


I've Put a Spell On You

by Stmpunklizzie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Smut, Men of Letters Bunker, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13245423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stmpunklizzie/pseuds/Stmpunklizzie
Summary: Dean and Sam attend the funeral of a fellow hunter. They vow to finish the investigation that got him killed, meeting a witch that isn't all she seems. Time frame is season 11 and beyond.





	1. Double Double, Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> First time delving into the Supernatural world. Hopefully I will get better at finding the characters voices! Also, first time posting to AO3. So woohoo! Of course nothing is mine and I am not attempting to make any money from this. Just having a bit of fun and letting my inner demons come out to play.

Two hours before the funeral was supposed to begin, they pulled up in front of the church where the service would be held. Dean fidgeted with his tie, trying to squash annoying nervousness that had only gotten worse the closer they had come to the country chapel. Sam was already out, slamming Baby’s door a bit too harshly. Dean growled slightly, smoothed his tie one last time, and followed his brother to the front steps. He paused, looking up at the tall steeple and the large bell that hung within. His gaze slid down the building to Sam, already climbing the front steps. Sam’s shoe caught the large rug outside the church doors and Dean took a deep breath as he caught a glimpse of a red devil’s trap. The nerves that were putting him on edge softened slightly as he climbed the steps. Even through grief, someone was still taking the right precautions, although his own guilt flashed, reminding him it should have been them. Sam shot him a bitch face over his shoulder, and pulled open the large front door. The white wash was chipped and weathered, in fact the whole church needed a fresh coat. Sighing, not able to put things off any longer, Dean caught the door as it started to close, finally catching up with Sam. 

“Slam it a little harder next time.” Dean gruffed, knocking into Sam’s arm.

“We should have been here last night Dean.” Sam whispered back. “She shouldn’t have to worry about warding on top of everything else.”

“Yeah, well, we are here now…” Dean knew he didn’t push the miles like he could have. Something wasn’t right about the whole situation.

“Cheryll?” Sam had seen the older woman first and moved into the small sanctuary to hug their grieving friend. Dean shifted slightly from one foot to the other. Despite all they had been through, despite all the death they had seen and dealt out, funerals were never comfortable. More so because the urn at the front of the church held the remains of a hunter. 

Max had known and hunted with their dad and Bobby, had even helped the brothers on a few cases. Amazingly, Max had also found the balance Dean secretly craved. He hunted, but also made a home with his wife, Cheryll. They had met on a case, fell in love, and built a relationship most other hunters never seem to find. Twenty three years later, they had fought together and loved each other through everything. 

Sam released Cheryll and Dean moved forward to take his place. Smiling sadly, she hugged him gently…she had always been a bit of a mystery to him. A fierce fighter, but with the next breath she could be making cookies and lecturing him about not calling more. It had been Sam who had taken the call last week when she told them that Max had died. He had said she sounded calm and collected until he had asked her how Max had passed. Witches. With a worried look, Sam had said he had never heard her speak one word with such anger. 

Ending the embrace, Dean looked down at the widow. Her hair was shorter than usual and she had let it go grey. Last time they had all been together, years ago, Max had been teasing her about continuing to dye her hair. At that time, she had given him a wicked grin and said she only did it to keep all the silver fox sugar daddies away. Dean chuckled at the memory and gently tugged at a stray lock of hair. Cheryll chuckled too and swatted his hand away.

“Don’t start.”

“I bet he loved it.” Dean smiled as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“The color? Yeah. He called me his natural girl.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her voice wavering. “But I just cut it yesterday. Hasn’t been this short since I met Max…”

“Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.” Sam put a hand on her shoulder as Cheryll closed her eyes again. He glared at Dean as he continued. “But we are here until we figure out what happened.”

“I appreciate that boys.” She nodded and opened her eyes, dabbing at them with a tissue. A man slowly approached the three of them from the front of the church. He extended his hand to both of them as Cheryll made introductions to the Pastor. 

“So you boys are going to help with unwanted guests today?” Dean looked from the pastor to Cheryll, eyebrows raised. 

“Pastor Ray knows about our life. He doesn’t hunt, but he supported Max and I along the way with contacts and research.” Dean frowned and looked skeptically back at the Pastor.

“Yes, we are here to help.” Sam cleared his throat and nudged Dean.

“Yeah, saw the trap out front. What else needs to be done?” Dean pushed down a new wave of nerves.

“Cheryll and I will greet people at the door.” Pastor Ray smiled at Sam, “She informed me that you may have some sigils to place?”

Sam looked to Dean who simply nodded, not trusting the pastor. 

“When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned…witches” Sam spoke in a hushed voice.

“Max was investigating some drifter murders right here in Ward county. He told me it looked like spell craft we had seen before but much more powerful.” Cheryll took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at the urn that held her husband. “We were going to confront a family that we have known to be wiccan for many years. They had never been a threat before, they are actually a big part of our community and have helped Max and I in the past, but we found some evidence that may have linked them to the murders.” looking back at the boys, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her middle. Dean wanted to reach for her but the pastor reacted first and Dean frowned a little more deeply. “Max started having night terrors…even during the day. Wide awake and all of a sudden he would rant about bugs crawling on him or sounds driving him mad.” She pulled out her phone and began to search through pictures, tears beginning to run down her face. “I knew it was a curse, we tried several things to try break it, we involved Pastor Ray, contacted a few other hunters. Finally, after a week of hell, Max had his first full night of sleep. We thought we had found the right reversal. But…this is how I found him, the next day when I came back from my morning run…” she handed Sam her phone and Dean leaned over to look, automatically wishing he hadn’t. There wasn’t much that could turn his stomach anymore. But this was a friend…almost family really…laying naked on his stomach in the middle of the living room, arms and legs splayed out, deep slashes on his body, blood all over. 

“Why didn’t you call us?” Dean grumbled, not intending to sound so put out. 

“You boys have been dealing with some big things.” Cheryll put a hand on Dean’s arm, rubbing gently over where the mark of Cain used to sit, looking deep into his eyes to convey her concern. “Heard some things…big things are happening…you were our next call…but then Max seemed to be better…” Dean sighed and wrapped an arm around her, giving her a side hug and pulling her away from Ray. 

“I am sorry to ask but, since Max got cursed…or since his death…have other drifter murders happened at all?” Sam asked with regret.

“No.” Ray answered. “That is why we both think someone might try to come here today.” Dean hugged Cheryll a little tighter and was about to remind Ray that she could speak for herself when a loud crash came from down the stairs to their right. Both Sam and Dean reacted by moving for their guns, while Ray held up his hands quickly. “Woah boys, slow down a moment.”

“What is down there?” Dean asked harshly.

“Our meeting hall. There is a kitchen attached. It may just be a parishioner come to help with flowers. There is a back door…” Ray had paled slightly as he watched Dean and Sam edge towards the stairs.

“Did you ward that door too?” Sam looked to Cheryll.

“Yes. I think so. I’ve been a little off…” Sam glanced at Dean again but he didn’t respond. He didn’t need any more guilt. “I was going to double check my work but then you two showed…” She had moved towards the stairs behind the brothers. Dean held out his arm, preventing her from following further. When she looked like she was about to protest, he shook his head firmly.

“Not this time Cheryll. Stay here. No arguments.” Her eyes stared at Dean, not trying to mask her defiance, but she eventually nodded and took a step back. Dean and Sam slowly moved down the stairs, guns drawn. 

The meeting hall was half lit with what Dean assumed was the kitchen on the far end. Two doors seemed to lead into the kitchen space, one on the far left and one on the far right. In between was a wall with a large shuddered window. It looked like the window could be opened for a serving area. Light spilled out beneath both doors and the window slots. As a shadow moved back and forth, Dean could hear soft muttering. The brothers exchanged looks and Sam nodded towards the left door. Dean nodded in return and moved towards the right. They crept forward slowly, a soft sweeping sound reaching his ears. Looking over to Sam as they reached the closed doors, Dean held up is fingers, counting to three. Together, they both moved through the doors quietly, but what greeted them was not what he expected. Instead of a big bad monster, he was looking at someone bent over, a nice ass covered by a tight black skirt, sweeping what looked like glass off of the kitchen floor. She didn’t seem to hear either of them enter probably due to the running sink faucet off to the side. As Dean tore his eyes away from her perky behind, he saw Sam give him a ‘really’ look and watched as his brother began to lower his gun. 

Trying to signal ‘no’, Dean still didn’t feel confident enough to lower his weapon. But the message never reached Sam because in a split second the woman stood, made eye contact with Dean, looked at his gun, and jumped back, squealing slightly, the broom clattering out of her hands and onto the tile floor, quickly followed by the dust pan, shattered glass spraying all over. Dean couldn’t seem to look away from her green eyes but then Sam cleared his throat, trying not to startle her. She turned to see him moving towards her and squealed again, her eyes panicked, moving her head back and forth between the two. Dean was reminded of a wild animal being cornered and he lowered his gun slightly. 

“Sorry” Sam was trying to calm her down as he put his gun away completely. “Sorry…we heard something from upstairs.”

“And you assumed, in a church, that you would need a gun to find out what it was??” Her voice was sarcastic but strong. Dean tilted his head slightly. He realized, she wasn’t scared of them, but her body movements suggested she was. She was only going through the motions of being scared…but why?

“What happened?” Dean looked at the floor and the glass littered all over.

“I came in the back to fill a vase with water…” as she moved, Dean saw flowers in the sink behind her. “It slipped. It broke. Didn’t know I could get shot over a $3 vase.” 

“You know Michell and Cindy?” Dean asked, his eyes watching her carefully.

“You mean Max and Cheryll?” she looked back at Dean as if he were stupid. “Yes. We all attend church here…well, attended…” sadness flickered across her features and she looked towards the floor. 

“Why not just come in the front?” 

She scowled at Dean, done with pretending to be scared, and took a step towards him, giving him a skeptical look as he raised his gun again. “This was the quickest route to the kitchen sink. I was going to take care of my flowers and then bring up any others that might have been delivered.” Putting her hands on her hips, she continued. “I am not answering any more questions until you tell me who you are and why you are pointing that thing at me.”

Defiantly, her eyes stayed on Dean, moving from his gun to his face and then down his body. He smirked, turnabout was fair play. He started with her curly red hair and moved down her curves to her long legs and high heels. She was about a foot shorter than he was, her skirt and blouse were a simple, flattering black. The skirt hugged her hips and stopped at her knees, the blouse had a modest neck line. A slim silver chain hung around her neck with a small full moon charm dangling down. Dean lifted his eyes to hers and lowered his gun again, although not putting it away completely.

“We are friends of Max and Cheryll.” Sam spoke up from behind the two. “We’re here to help get things ready, just came into town this morning.” Sam moved to her side and stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam, this is Dean.” She just looked at his hand and then focused on Dean again. A tense moment passed before she rolled her eyes again and shook Sam’s hand. He smiled down at her and, releasing her hand, he bent down to pick up the broom. “Can we help you clean up? Miss?” Sam paused as if to give the woman a chance to give them her name. She took the broom from him and picked up the dust pan again, Dean’s eyes getting another look at her backside. 

“No. I’ve got this. Why don’t you two go back upstairs and give a girl a moment to collect her nerves.”

Sam glanced at Dean, moving towards the door Dean had come in from. 

“Sure. If you need help…”

“Oh yeah, I would yell for the guys that bring guns to church.” She didn’t look at them, just started to sweep the glass into the dust pan.

Once on the other side of the kitchen door, Dean looked at Sam with a scowl. 

“She’s not some casual church member.” he growled.

“She came in past the back door wards…” Sam argued.

“You heard Cheryll, she was going to double check her work. Maybe she made a mistake.”

“Because she is distraught about her husband dying and we should have been here to help her.” Sam was moving back to the stairs that led up to the main sanctuary.

“Let it go Samantha. There are other hunters, closer than we were, that could be here helping too.” Dean sighed, guilt washing over him yet again. Sam paused at the bottom step and turned, frowning at Dean.

“No one who is family, Dean.” Before he could snap back at Sam and tell him to lay off, Cheryll came down the steps quietly. Dean looked at her, annoyance in his eyes

“Told you to stay upstairs.”

“Yeah, and I appreciated the chivalry for about five seconds before I was angry I let you force me back. Since I heard no further clatter, I assumed all was ok.” At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and out came the mystery lady with a new vase of her flowers and two others wedged in her arms. “Lizzie, sweetheart, was that you throwing things around down here?” Cheryll smiled and moved down the last few steps to help with the flowers. 

“Yes, Clumsy me. Vase slipped. Gonna have to tell pastor I owe him. I borrowed one from the pantry.” As Cheryll took one of the flower arrangements from the girl, she gave her a hug. Lizzie looked over her friends shoulder and glared at the brothers who were just standing, watching the scene. Dean felt the urge to stick his tongue out at her but resisted and immediately wondered where the urge had come from.

“Hope the boys didn’t give you too much grief.” Cheryll smiled as she released Lizzie.

“No. But you may need to have a talk with them about the appropriate accessories to bring to a funeral.” Lizzie chuckled, moving past the boys and began climbing the stairs. Dean couldn’t help admire the view one last time but was interrupted by a slap to the back of his head. 

“Ouch!” he pretended to be wounded although there was little force behind the slap. Cheryll smirked at him and punched his arm lovingly. 

“Lizzie doesn’t need some Hunter chatting her up. Besides, she’s engaged. So stop your drooling.” she grabbed both brothers arms and walked between them up the stairs. 

Once back in the sanctuary, Cheryll kept them busy with wards but refused to talk further about Max. She would just brush them away and mumble something about having plenty of time. Lizzie seemed to come and go, bringing up more flowers and not paying much attention to what others were doing. Dean tried to keep from staring too hard but there was something about her that still didn’t sit well. Sure, she was great eye candy, but it wasn’t necessarily her curves that captured his scrutiny. At times, out of the corner of his eye, she seemed blurry or out of focus, like she wasn’t really there at all but a part of his imagination. 

They had finished the last line of salt when the first mourners arrived. Sam and Dean took a seat at the back on opposite sides of the center aisle. Sam had rationalized that if anything did get through the wards, they could be there to tackle it down. Plus, being close to where Cheryll and the pastor were greeting visitors, Dean could listen for any signs that someone was not supposed to be there. By the time the service was going to begin, the small crowd held a few Hunters but mostly, the faces seemed to belong to church members and civilian friends of Max and Cheryll. No monsters. No ghouls. At least nothing of the supernatural kind. Dean bowed his head as the service started, not to pray of course, but to get ahold of his own emotions. This day had already been a test on his well placed mask of indifference. But why? Was it loosing Max? Loosing yet one more loved one? Was it just the general weirdness of life right now what with Chuck and Amara and his odd visions and the Mark of Cain and killing Death and…

“How did you know Max?” a whisper brought Dean out of his spiral. He looked to his left and found Lizzie sitting next to him. He hadn’t felt her join him on the bench. Her own gaze was towards the front of the church and for a moment Dean wondered if she had said anything at all when she glanced at him. “Sorry to interrupt your thoughts” she whispered again, “was just curious.”

Dean looked from Lizzie to the pastor up front and back to her. “We’re family” he answered gruffly looking away from her face. He wasn’t even sure why he responded. 

“Sorry for your loss” she whispered and paused for a long moment before continuing. “I wasn’t aware that Max had family?”

“Not all family is blood.” Dean whispered back, again surprised at his response. He felt a soft electricity on his left side, the hair on his arm almost standing on end. It made him extremely aware of Lizzie and how close she really was. Instantly he was on guard and berated himself for letting it down in the first place. What was really going on here?

“True” she responded, this time turning to look at his face. Their eyes locked and the electricity Dean had felt moved from his left side to his spine, making him shiver. “My own family is made up of scraps here and there. Sometimes people you choose to be family can have a stronger bond than blood.” Dean simply nodded and resisted the strong urge to reach over and take Lizzie’s hand. “Are you going to be staying in town long?” she whispered, leaning closer. Dean tried to shake the fog that seemed to be muddling up his instincts. Something was wrong. 

“As long as it takes” his hushed voice came out through clenched teeth. 

“As long as what takes?” Lizzie licked her lips and leaned in further. Dean couldn’t think of anything other than kissing her and was close to completing that desire when the fog in his brain suddenly lifted and he felt like he had been jolted awake from a dream. He blinked rapidly and sat up straight. Hearing a soft hiss to his right, Dean looked across the aisle at Sam who was frowning at him.

“Are you all right?” Sam mouthed to his brother. All Dean could do was nod yes. He slowly looked towards the front of the church where someone was beginning to sing. As the soft music filled the church, Dean looked to his left. He knew she wouldn’t be there. The electricity was gone, the desire and murky thoughts were gone. He was in control of himself again. Slowly, he scanned the church for Lizzie and found her sitting ahead a few rows off to his left. She was wiping a tissue across her eyes but Dean was sure the tissue would be dry. She wasn’t in mourning…in fact, he was almost certain she wasn’t even human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism always appreciated! Just an FYI, updates may be a bit spotty at first. But I won't leave ya hanging too long.


	2. Hocus Pocus

Sam and Dean waited outside after the service, leaning against Baby, watching as others consoled Cheryll at the top of the church steps before leaving. No one seemed bothered by the wards and sigils they walked past. Dean paid close attention to Lizzie as she hugged Cheryll again and moved over the trap that was hidden. But nothing. She wiped at her eyes with a tissue and walked down the steps, gaze on the ground. There was no more electricity, nothing seemed out of place as she crossed the parking lot. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Sam, he wasn’t sure what had really happened. His eyes traveled down her body, lost for a moment on the sway of her hips, confusion in his mind as he went through a list of monsters that could be powerful enough to project into his mind and yet not be bothered by all the wards they set. With all the possibilities, he kept landing on witch, yet there were pieces that didn’t fit.

A car horn caused him to startle slightly. Both he and Sam looked over to the red corvette that was across from them. The driver was someone he didn’t notice from the service...and Dean was sure he would have noticed. A big guy, with huge muscles, wearing a bright orange shirt, was packed into the car. Dean wasn’t sure how he got into the vehicle, but it looked as if it would be difficult to get out. Sam chuckled, nudging Dean and nodding toward the corvette.

“Clown Car” Dean spoke low and smirked at the somber wave that flashed over Sam’s face. Poor Sammy, still afraid...he was about to tease Sam further but his attention was quickly grabbed by the woman approaching the passenger side. Lizzie seemed upset with the driver, a frown on her face as she wiped again at her eyes. _Keep up the act sweetheart..._ Dean thought as he watched her closely. The passenger window rolled down and she leaned over, glaring at the muscled man.

“Do you possess any tact?” Sam snorted at her words, both were able to hear the conversation because of their proximity and the fact that she wasn’t trying to hide her disgust. “I have my own car here. You didn’t need to come.” Unfortunately it wasn’t as easy to hear the driver. Dean squinted, looking at the man’s face, whatever his response was didn’t seem friendly.

“I’m fine. It was fine. Nothing happened.” Lizzie lowered her voice slightly but Dean could still hear the frustration laced in her words. _What was supposed to happen?_ he wondered. The driver spoke again and Sam shifted next to him. He was straightening... _was he thinking about going over to the car?_ Dean placed his hand on his brothers arm and slightly shook his head no. Once again, Lizzie took over his attention as she threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh and stomped away from the car. As she walked past the front of the corvette, head high and not looking back, the driver side window slid down and the man shouted after her.

“Elizabeth, don’t go against Jakob right now. Be reasonable.” The corvette pulled out of the parking spot. “Just come home and hear him out!”

“Nothing has changed.” she paused and looked at the driver sadly before he squealed past, leaving her glaring at the back end of the car and coughing slightly at the smell left behind from the tires. As the car disappeared around the corner, her gaze moved to Sam and Dean. Her expression was tired, someone who had too much on her mind, not the confident woman who stood toe to toe with Dean earlier.

“Enjoy the show?” she called out quietly.

“Are you ok?” Sam answered back, still allowing Dean to hold him back, but he heard the concern in his brothers voice. Maybe she was in his head like she had invaded Dean’s back in the church.

“Fine” she replied with a sigh. Her eyes locked with Dean’s and she hesitantly took a step towards him. For a moment he felt a small spark of the energy that was in the church. It looked as if she wanted share all of her burdens...until wordlessly shaking her head and turning to walk to her car. Dean’s eyebrows rose as she unlocked a blue 69 mustang boss and slid into the driver's seat. It roared to life and rumbled out of the lot.

“I warned you not to drool.” Cheryll laughed as she walked up to Dean, placing her arm through his. He looked down at the widow, her laugh not reaching her sorrow filled eyes. “Care to give an old lady a lift home? Pastor Ray was the one who picked me up but he wants to stay and...um...cleanse the church of our graffiti.”

“Did he say that?” Sam chuckled, apparently unfazed by what just took place. Dean still felt in a fog.

“Naw. But he is going to clean up some of the salt.”

“We’d be honored to take you home.” At his brothers words, Dean cleared his head with a shake and moved to open the door for her, letting her grab shotgun. Sam moved into the back from the drivers side. Dean was still thinking about Lizzie as he pulled out of the parking lot, yet the more he thought about her, the angrier he became about the whole situation. It was a quiet ride for the first few miles. Until Sam decided to throw Dean under the bus.

“Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner Cheryll. I really wanted to get here last night to try and help.” Dean mumbled ‘ass-kisser’ under his breath and kept his eyes on the road.

“Oh! For the last time...Get over it Samantha. We’re here now” he grumbled.

“It’s ok, really” Cheryll responded, putting a hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s never easy going to a hunter’s funeral...” She sniffled a little, causing Dean to feel even more like a jerk. He reached over and wrapped his hand around her shoulders, pulling her gently over, across the front seat, all while sending Sam a glare in the rear view mirror. “I’m alright Dean. Gonna be all girly and cry randomly for a while.” He pretended to shudder, chuckling as she lightly punched his side. “But I’m all right. Max and I had talked about this day since we first moved in together. Who would be the first to go. The past few years we both knew we were living on borrowed time. How many hunters have what we had?” Cheryll fell quiet, her eyes focused on memories of the past and neither Dean or Sam wanted to disturb her.

Soon enough, they turned down Ivy street, slowing as they came to the house. Several cars were on the street with people getting out, some Dean noticed from the service. The blue mustang wasn’t here and he felt tension release that he hadn’t known he had been holding onto. Pulling into the driveway of the huge victorian home, he noticed it had been painted pale yellow since last they were here. The three of them got out and Cheryll went into hostess mode, welcoming friends in.

Sam and Dean moved to the trunk, grabbing their duffel bags out along with a pack they had assembled before arriving, full of different weapons and charms they might need initially. Cheryll hadn’t invited them to stay with her, she had forcefully insisted.

“Are ya gonna drop it now Sam?” Dean mumbled, shutting the trunk

“Yea, yea. Sorry. I just wanted her to know we aren’t both Jerks.” Sam slammed his duffle into the back of Deans legs causing him to buckle slightly.

“Bitch” Dean called over his shoulder. They walked into the familiar house, already knowing where the guest room was. With Cheryll busy, they would just make themselves comfortable. Going up the stairs, Dean noticed several photographs were missing from the wall.

“Feels weird” Sam spoke as they reached the second floor landing. “Did you notice the missing photos?” Dean nodded his reply, eyes looking for anything else that might be out of place. He took the bedroom on the left, as always, Sam on the right. “We should do a sweep of the house quick before it gets too crowded.” Sam called across the hall.

“Yeah. Who knows how late people will stay.” Dean replied. The room looked the same. Off-white walls and simple decor. The double bed covered with a large quilt that he knew would smell of lavender. Large feather pillows, a small vanity to one side with folded grey towels on top. Unzipping the bag of weapons, Dean slid a large knife between the mattresses. He looked at the window frame, his hand gliding over the sigils etched into the wood. Unlike a lot of the places they had stayed over the years, this house was special. No salt lines needed, no extra precautions, everything was already done for them. So how did Max end up cursed?

“Everything else seems ok up here. The same as always” Sam was leaning against the door frame, looking around Dean’s room.

“So we take a walk through the main floor. Then basement.”

“Then attic?” Sam questioned. Dean had only been up there once, it was really only used for storage space, but there might be some clues if Cheryll had moved anything up there recently.

“Yeah, but we check with Cheryll first.” Sam nodded in agreement and they moved back down to the main floor.

A few more friends had arrived, but Cheryll wasn’t in sight as they made their way through the living and dining room. The dining room and kitchen were joined by a small hallway. On the left side of the hall was a door that led out to the backyard and garage. To the right were stairs that led down to the basement. Dean paused as he moved towards the kitchen, looking down into the dark. The basement was half rec room, half training grounds. In one afternoon visit, Max could show Dean his newest experiment in homemade weaponry and watch football on one of the most comfortable couches ever made.

Smirking at the memory, Dean wasn’t prepared for the back door to open, almost knocking him down the stairs. Even more so, he wasn’t prepared for the jolt of electricity that shot up his spine.

“Hey! Watch it...” he grabbed at the railing, only stumbling down two steps.

“Sorry!” a female voice mumbled from behind two huge bouquets of flowers. Sam chuckled and moved forward to help, taking one of the large vases from the girl.

“Hello again.” Sam greeted Lizzie with a friendly smile. “Do you own a flower shop?” he joked and she laughed politely.

“Got a message from Pastor. The person who was supposed to bring them here couldn’t...so I volunteered.” She smiled at Sam, but the smile fell as she looked at Dean. “I am sorry about opening the door on you like that.” He frowned slightly, the spark he had felt at her entrance had settled to a low hum at the base of his neck. He walked up the two stairs to look down on her, not wanting her here in this house at this time. She was dangerous because he couldn’t read her, didn’t know what game she was playing or what she was really hiding.

“Creeping in through the back door again?” he questioned. It was meant to be a light jest but when it rumbled out of his mouth, it was more like a threat. Sam nudged him slightly but Dean didn’t budge.

“Again, closest door to where I parked...” She replied with snark and motioned over her shoulder. Sure enough, the blue mustang was parked in the back alley by the garage. “The street is filling up.” He didn’t smile as they stood staring at each other, neither backing down, all of the anger he felt in the car bubbling up now that they were face to face. Then suddenly, she rolled her eyes and shoved the second vase at Dean. “As much as I would **love** to do **nothing** more than gaze into your eyes” she spoke with dripping sarcasm, “There are three more of these to bring in.” And with that she was out the door, the screen slamming shut behind her.

“I’ll be out to help” Sam called after her, shuffling Dean into the kitchen with the flowers. Cheryll and some other women were chatting loudly as they moved food onto the kitchen island. It was beginning to look like a huge buffet. “What’s going on with you?” he whispered as they set the flowers on the counter.

“Going on with me? Why are you so trusting?” Dean turned the tables, not sure this was the time or place to tell Sam what had been happening.

“She’s obviously a trusted friend of not only Cheryll’s but the Pastor of their church. She made it past several wards,” as Dean started to protest, Sam shook his head, “Not only at the church but here too...you know all of Max’s wards here are still sound.” Dean frowned and looked over his shoulder at the women to see if they had taken notice of them before continuing.

“She’s off, Sam. At the church...during the service there was this moment.” Dean wiped a hand down his face. It sounded crazy even as it rambled through his head again. “It’s like she got into my mind and was trying to get information on Max.” Sam looked ready to argue but Dean continued on. “Something’s wrong. With the way Max died? It’s off and I can’t put my finger on why.” Again, Sam tried to quiet him with a hand on his shoulder but he shook it off. “If she’s a witch, she’s a very powerful one. If she’s a demon, she’s something new to be able to cross all those wards. But I know, I just KNOW, she is not entirely human!” Finishing his rant, Dean noticed that Sam had turned two shades of red and it was a bit too quiet in the kitchen. Slowly turning, Dean saw that all the women were now staring at him. But the look on Cheryll’s face was what really caused him to shrink. Anger, embarrassment, shock...anger… suddenly the back door slammed shut and for a moment all eyes shifted from him to the new distraction.

“Thanks for the help Sam.” Lizzie huffed as she moved to the counter with three more plump vases. Sam moved to help her set them down without them spilling. Laughing, she gave him a push on his shoulder. “Sure, now you rush to my aid.” yet her laughter died as she looked around the quiet room. “What did I interrupt?” A few of the women chuckled as some of the tension left the room.

“Ladies, thanks for your help. Would you mind if I talked to these boys alone for a moment?” one by one the women nodded and left, some touching Cheryll’s shoulder or hand as they moved into the long hallway towards the living room. Lizzie looked from Sam to Dean to Cheryll, not moving.

“Is everything ok?” she asked to no one in particular.

“Everything is fine. Just need a moment alone with these two.” Cheryll moved to Lizzie’s side and squeezed her gently. She shot Dean and Sam a questioning look as she was hugged but they both just shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. Lizzie didn’t look like she believed the older woman but she nodded and left through the small hallway that connected to the dining room. As soon as the kitchen was empty, Cheryll turned on them taking a deep breath. “In the future, if you have information about a hunt or are working on a theory will you please be so kind as to shut it down until we are away from mixed company?” It was clear she was trying to stay calm as she spoke and Dean felt a new wave of guilt hit him.

“I am sorry Cheryll.” Sam gaped at his brother for a moment but Dean ignored him. Instead he watched as Cheryll closed her eyes, taking another deep breath and nodded her head once.

“Alright. Now. I am assuming you have had some kind of lead or epiphany or aneurysm that couldn’t wait til we were alone?”

“Aneurysm maybe.” muttered Sam.

“How long have you known Elizabeth?” Dean asked cautiously. Cheryll’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“She likes to be called Lizzie. Both Max and I have known her for about a year. She moved into town to help with some of her family...You have taken more of an interest in her than just a pretty face.”

“Something is off about her...” Dean argued.

“Well of course.” Cheryll sighed, walking over to the flowers on the table and began fluffing them. “And before you begin, she’s not a demon or any other kind of monster. She’s a witch.” Dean’s mouth moved open in shock. Sam was silent next to him. Awkward moments passed until he gathered the most intelligent response he could.

“Come again?”

“Her family is part of the wiccan coven I mentioned at the church. Max and I had worked with them in the past. Sweet people.” Cheryll walked from the table with one of the vases and put it into the sink. Sam started to sputter with a question but she continued. “They were trying to help us find whoever was responsible for the murders...and now Max...Lizzie feels awful about it all.”

“I’m sure she does.” Dean almost growled.

“What happened in the church?” Cheryll turned to Dean. When he frowned at her, she added “I heard part of the conversation...she got in your head?” He glared at the ceiling for a moment before responding.

“I don’t know what kind of history you have with her family. Frankly, I am surprised you would work with witches...especially when you think one of them cursed Max!” Cheryll shushed him gently but Dean took a step away. “At the church she messed with my mind. Putting a vision there, asking me more about Max...how long we were going to be in town...trying to dig around.”

“That’s why you looked so spooked?” Sam spoke quietly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s crazy. We warded the whole place, she shouldn’t have been able to be in there much less use any of her powers with all those sigils around. Plus - that powerful of a spell? When I snapped out of it, she was a few benches ahead of me seemingly fine. Didn’t even break a sweat.”

“She is a powerful witch. Her uncle says the most powerful in generations of her bloodline.” Cheryll leaned against the sink, worry in her eyes. “But she’s not the one. We would have known. She was here everyday trying to help.”

“That’s what they do.” Dean moved to Cheryll and took her hands in his own. “Maybe this family you know, maybe they are nice...witches. But you’ve only known her a year? When did the murders start?” she looked into Dean’s eyes, still struggling with the possibilities.

“We would have known Dean. This isn’t some witchy trick of theirs. They are friends...”

“When did they start?” He repeated softly.

“About a year ago...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


	3. She said...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with this chapter, we get to hear the story from a different point of view - Lizzie.

_Ugh! How had the day turned so rotten?_ Lizzie wanted to just curl up and sleep away the rest of the day but she knew there was too much at stake to give into the temptation. Pulling out of the church parking lot, she used all her will not to look back at the brothers that were watching her. Now, with Dean and Sam here, she would have to be on point to stay close to Cheryll. Hunters had a certain...metallic taste to their aura and she had sensed it was them from the moment she knew she wasn’t alone in the church basement. _And what the hell happened there? First odd thing...smashing the vase._ Lizzie hated wasting her magic on simple spells so once the vase had broken, that was it. _But how did it happen in the first place?_

Slowing down for a red light, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself for better memory clarity. She had been late getting to the church. Cheryll had already laid down wards and, although they itched a bit, Lizzie had always been able to cross them. She had rushed down the stairs, reached for a vase and...her eyes opened wide as she recalled the feeling of someone’s fingers running down her spine. That was it. That is why the vase went crashing. Then the brothers appeared and she did a piss poor job of imitating a frightened deer. She could never hide her gumption for long and there was something about Dean that had made her either want to punch him or kiss him.

With the light now green, Lizzie cautiously pulled forward, knowing she was distracted as she drove towards Cheryll’s. Then there was the crazy run away spell. Lizzie had been practicing spell craft for 15 years, since her 16th birthday. Her aunt Virginia always said she might have come late to class but she always surpassed all the other students. She smiled softly and shook her head. Being a school teacher, all her aunt's analogies used to revolve around students and teaching. Lizzie had always had control over the craft and the power to master complex spells. But, for the first time today, the spell got away from her. And, oh boy, did it run wild.

Turning the corner, it looked like she was one of the first to reach the old victorian home she loved so much. Pulling up, she turned off her vehicle and sat for a moment, knowing that Cheryll wouldn’t be here quite yet. Knowing that **he** wouldn’t be here yet. How was she going to control herself around him? All she had wanted to do was skim his thoughts, did he suspect her, did he believe she was normal or a threat. But suddenly she had been projekting with an unexplainable need to be next to him. Once she was closer, warmth and electricity had spread through her...and she lost control. Lizzie never used her magic to influence, but she could tell he was answering her questions against his will. _And the near kiss? What the hell?_ Thank goodness the person next to her had to excuse himself, stepping on her foot in the process and interrupting the trance. Her eyes had watered at the sharp pain in her toes but she thanked the goddess that it had been enough to get her back in her own skin.

Leaning her head back on the head rest, Lizzie closed her eyes. That had made things awkward enough. But then Patrick had to show up in that stupid car. Jakob hadn’t wanted her to attend the funeral...lately Jakob didn’t want her to do much but be a pretty little fiance to Marcus. Knocking her head back against the head rest a few times, she admonished herself. For coming back, for giving into her Uncle’s scheme, even for befriending Max and Cheryll. She had been better off back in Minneapolis, not that she had much of a life there either. But no, here she was in Kansas…The ring of her cell phone made her jump slightly and she grabbed it quick, answering without needing to look.

“Pastor. Everything ok?”

“Yes Lizzie, I just need a favor. Bertrice was supposed to bring some of these flower arrangements to Cheryll’s for the reception, but she isn’t well...”

“I’m on my way.”

“Only if it isn’t inconvenient.”

“Glad to help out, Ray”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Lizzie had been glad to help Ray since it provided her extra time before having to see Dean again. Upon returning to Cheryll’s, the street had become crowded with cars, so Lizzie went around back. The blue paint job was the last thing she and Max had done together on the car and she wasn’t about to let any yahoo ding it up. Pulling into the garage approach from the alley, she took a deep breath. She was calm, she was in control. _Keep chanting that until you believe it._

She grabbed the two largest bouquets and headed towards the back door hoping most guests, and therefore Sam and Dean, would be in the front room. As she walked up the back steps, suddenly she felt a burning itch in her left arm. In order to relieve the shocking sensation, Lizzie rubbed against the wooden frame and accidentally pushed open the door in the process, and quite forcefully at that.

“Hey! Watch it...” But of course, fate was plotting against her yet again and thru a small gap in the flowers, she realized she had practically pushed Dean down the basement stairs.

“Sorry!” she mumbled and heard Sam chuckle close to her right side. He moved forward to help and took one of the vases.

“Hello again.” he smiled. “Do you own a flower shop?” he had mirth in his voice and she laughed politely.

“Got a message from Pastor. The person who was supposed to bring them here couldn’t...so I volunteered.” She smiled at Sam, but her smile fell as she looked at Dean. “I am sorry about opening the door on you like that.” He frowned at her and she sighed inwardly. She would need him on her side and so far she was batting zero today, albeit some of what had happened was disturbingly out of her control. As he walked up the two stairs to look down on her, she repeated her chant. _Calm, Control. Calm, Control_.

“Creeping in through the back door again?” And just like that, his dominant, almost threatening tone made her calm and control fly right out the back door.

“Closest door to where I parked...” she motioned over her shoulder. “The street is filling up.” He didn’t smile as they stood staring at each other. Anger shot through her mind. Why should she have to explain herself to him. She had been here for a year and the boys had never passed through that she had heard of. She had helped Max and Cheryll...where was he when Max got sick?? Feeling the need to back off before she lost control of her magic again, she rolled her eyes to release some tension and shoved the second vase at Dean. “As much as I would love to do nothing more than gaze into your eyes” she spoke with dripping sarcasm, “There are three more of these to bring in.” Then she turned and walked away, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air, not even flinching when the screen slammed shut behind her.

“I’ll be out to help” Sam called after her, but she just waved her arm in the air and kept walking. She didn’t dare turn back and look at Dean. In fact, she should just get in her car and leave. There was something going on she wasn’t in control of and it frightened her. But she was stuck. If she left now OR if she went back in the house and kept the anger rolling, she would lose her friendship with Cheryll, she was sure of it.

Leaning against the car, Lizzie closed her eyes, trying to focus on her goal and to wait for Sam to come and help with the last vases. Tears started to prickle at the corners of her eyes. Taking a steady breath, she pushed her emotions deep and repeated the facts in her head. **Cheryll was still in danger and if she lost her trust, she would lose her edge.** Another breath. **The Winchesters could be helpful if she could push past the stumbles so far and stay detached.** _Good luck with that..._ her subconscious needed to shut up. Eyes closed, she shook her head and took another deep breath. **The curse that killed Max was her fault.** Lizzie’s eyes popped open and tears rolled down her cheeks. Even though she knew it wasn’t true, if felt real. But there wasn’t time right now to dig out where that thought had come from so she wiped her tears away, gave up on Sam coming to help, and grabbed the remaining vases herself. Juggling the three vases, she pulled herself together, determined to make things right and control whatever was happening between her and Dean. She was so focused on quickly closing down the emotions that had burst forth, she didn’t notice anything was amiss when she walked into the kitchen.

“Thanks for the help Sam.” she huffed and moved to the counter with the vases. Sam finally moved to help and she chuckled as they all amazingly were set down without spilling. “Sure, now you rush to my aid.” but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, it hit her. The tension was thick and everyone was staring at her. “What did I interrupt?” When a few of the women chuckled, she looked down at her outfit making sure there wasn’t some weird flower mishap splattered on her.

“Ladies, thanks for your help. Would you mind if I talked to these boys alone for a moment?” one by one the women nodded and left, but Lizzie looked from Sam to Dean, neither making eye contact with her. How long had she been outside? What could have possibly happened in that amount of time to make Cheryll get out her ‘angry mom’ face?

“Is everything ok?” she asked to no one in particular.

“Everything is fine. Just need a moment alone with these two.” Cheryll moved to hug her gently and she at least knew she wasn’t in trouble. Finally catching the brothers looking at her, she tried to convey her confusion in her expression hoping for some more clues but they both were in cahoots, not giving her a damn thing. All she could do was leave, but she didn’t go far. Moving into the dining room, she leaned against the edge of the hallway wall and heard Cheryll begin, _“In the future, if you have information about a hunt or are working on a theory will you please be so kind as to shut it down until we are away from mixed company?”_

“Lizzie?” she jumped as Mrs. Johnson caught her listening in. The kind smile on the woman’s old face always put her at ease and she chuckled as she pushed her arm playfully.

“I keep telling you, you need to wear a bell Edith!” the older woman had a sparkle in her eye that suggested she had mischievous thoughts. Lizzie secretly thought Edith Johnson had some natural wicca about her, and wanted to be like her when she was her age. _If you reach such a fine old age…_

“Listening in? Pearl said she was pushed out of the kitchen because of some crazy boys.” the little old lady winked at Lizzie and nudged her with her elbow. “You like crazy boys...” Lizzie laughed and wiggled her engagement ring at Edith.

“I have my own crazy boy. And no, I wasn’t listening in. Just making sure Cheryll was going to be ok before I came looking for you.” Edith shushed Lizzie and gently slapped the ring she was showing.

“That boy don’t deserve you.” she shuffled slightly closer, ready to spill secrets and gossip. “Pearl said those boys in the kitchen are crazy but oh so cute.” Lizzie laughed a little too loud, forgetting about the conversation she was supposed to be listening in on.

“Ok. They are both good-looking. But they are here to help Cheryll, as we all should be.” Edith nodded and tried to peek around the corner. Lizzie needed to steer her away from the kitchen and things she would be better off not hearing.

“How about I make sure to give you a proper introduction...” Edith ginned like a cheshire cat and it was infectious. Lizzie smiled back as the old woman tapped the side of her nose in understanding and began to shuffle away. Shaking her head at her eccentric friend, she returned to the hushed conversation in the kitchen. Dean was talking

_...Didn’t even break a sweat.”_

_“She is a powerful witch. Her uncle says the most powerful in generations of her bloodline.”_ Cheryll spoke and Lizzie shivered at the statement. So she had told the WInchesters the truth. _“But she’s not the one. We would have known. She was here everyday trying to help.”_

 _“That’s what they do.”_ Dean’s voice was hard. This wasn’t good. _“Maybe this family you know, maybe they are nice...witches. But you’ve only known her a year? When did the murders start?”_ Damn it. She could tell where he was leading Cheryll and it wasn’t fair!

 _“We would have known Dean. This isn’t some witchy trick of theirs. They are friends...”_ Lizzie’s eyes grew wide as she heard the beginnings of disbelief in her friends words. Dean was unweaving the trust that she had built over the past year.

 _“When did they start?”_ He was talking softly now and Lizzie strained to hear.

_“About a year ago...”_

Oh no. The seed of doubt had been planted and would grow fast, she was sure of it. Max had been the one to reach out to Lizzie when she first moved here. A month afterwards, the first murder happened on the night of the new moon. Max had been the one to defend them when Cheryll suggested that maybe they should distance themselves from the coven after the second murder, exactly three months later. After the curse started, Lizzie and her uncle Jakob were the only coven members still allowed to visit. At that point, Lizzie thought she and Cheryll had become close...but how easy it is to break down those bonds when grief is added to the mix. _Grief and a biased Winchester_. She moved away from the hall quietly, mind buzzing with what to do next. The Winchesters knew what she was. Should she let them know her side of things? Would they listen to her theory? If they knew Cheryll was in danger...but would they jump to the conclusion that Lizzie was the real danger?

Chatter was growing louder, alerting Lizzie to the growing crowd that was gathering. Fight or Flight. Standing straight, making her decision, she wouldn’t give up until she tried to talk to Cheryll, tried to explain to Sam and Dean what was going on. _No time like the present_. She turned around and walked through the hall into the kitchen, but the boys weren’t in sight. Cheryll was surrounded by friends, yet she managed to give a small smile to Lizzie. She smiled back, unsure really how to act and was about to go in search of Sam when Cheryll called out to her.

“Lizzie. Do me a favor?” she nodded in response, of course she would. “Too many flowers in here...could you take one into the living room? Maybe a few upstairs?” Lizzie smiled and relaxed slightly. Without responding, she went to work. If Cheryll still wanted her roaming freely about the house, that was a good thing... _right?_

Slowly she picked up the three vases that she had last carried in from the car and moved through the still growing crowd to place one bouquet on the fireplace mantle in the living room, then took to the stairs to find a place for the other two. A few people were standing in her way, looking at the pictures that lined the wall. _Not as many as there were..._ she thought but pushed it away as emotions immediately started bubbling up that she wanted tampered down.

Excusing herself as she slid past, she finally made it to the second floor landing. Carefully, she slid open the master bedroom door, already knowing that one bouquet should go into their master bath. The colors of the flowers would look lovely in the rosy hued room. She moved in and out quickly, not looking up, not wanting to catch a memory of Max. The last bouquet could go at the far end of the hall on a small table; under the window that looked out on the front lawn. Without thinking about much more than returning to Cheryll, Lizzie moved passed the guest rooms. Both doors were closed but the one on the left had something beeping from within. _Is that where my watch disappeared to?_ Lizzie wondered. When she was trying to help Max break the curse, she would often stay in this room since the hours would grow late and Cheryll didn’t want her driving home. Frowning, she moved to open the door in order to search out the noise. Stepping inside, she froze...the brothers must have already claimed rooms because there was a duffle bag on the bed. Dread crept up her back as she realized she really shouldn’t be in here. Spinning about, she slammed into the unmovable body of Dean Winchester and promptly broke another vase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 01/16/17 - I made a slight change to the timeline. She has now been practicing since the age of 16...if I had kept it 21 it wouldn't work with later chapters. Sorry for the confusion.


	4. Weaving Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back into Dean's perspective...

“Wanna tell me what you are doen in here?” he asked gruffly, the shock of literally running into Lizzie didn’t help him temper his emotions, anger and lust whirled around his head.

“I heard an alarm.” Her voice was soft as she stared right back at him. Tilting his head slightly, he raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You know...a beeping...sound...” He smirked slightly at her stumble, trying to explain the alarm. _Focus you fool._ Reprimanding himself, he dropped his expression back into a scowl. _A witch. In his room. On this day. Not a coincidence._  

“There isn’t a beeping...” his voice was rough as he continued to stare down. Of course he could hear the sound...but she couldn’t **just** be in his room because of an alarm. Hearing heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, he felt relief at being saved momentarily from an awkward interrogation.  

“Is everything ok?” Sam rounded the corner, “Heard a crash...” Lizzie looked down at the vase and then to Sam. He let go of the breath he’d been holding as the distraction gave him a few moments to decide what action to take next.

“Thank goodness it’s just glass and not a mirror.” she chuckled, trying to make light of it, and he heard Sam respond in kind. But she was still too close for comfort, so he pushed past Lizzie, albeit a little roughly, the electric shock that zipped along his skin after brushing against her was hard to ignore. Seeking out the source of the beeping, he noticed something on the floor behind the bed frame. A small watch. As he picked it up, he felt a small shock to his fingers and the alarm turned off.

“Sometimes, when it would get late...um...when Max was ill, I stayed...” Her focus was on the broken vase, not making eye contact with either of them. Feeling his anger rise yet again, he did not like that he still had more questions than he started the day with.

“Still doesn’t explain what you were doing up here.” he growled out, watching as Lizzie sighed softly, her shoulders slumping, defeated.

“Cheryll asked me to spread out some of the flowers.” she looked up to Sam and then to him, her eyes seemingly open windows, showing the same exhaustion he had seen in the church parking lot. “I know, that you both know...that Cheryll told you.” As if watching a movie backwards, his eyes widened as Lizzie moved her hand out over the broken vase, shattered pieces moving back together, water drops defying gravity, flowers repaired. Within seconds, she was holding a newly restored vase. Sam closed his mouth, his eyes flicking between him and the flowers.

“That supposed to impress me?” he ground out after finding his voice, “Soothe me, lull me into thinking you are safe?”

“No” She hung her head and moved out of the room, walking out into the hallway.  Stuck to the spot, he watched Sam trail after her with his eyes. _The table at the end of the hall_ , he thought, and when she returned to the doorway without the vase, he assumed that’s where she placed them.

"What about the vase at the Church?” Sam asked quietly and he wanted to scream. _Really Sammy? That’s your opening question?_

“I don’t usually cast for small, everyday things. Once that vase broke, I just swept it up.” her eyes were on the doorframe as she spoke, “Some use spell craft for everything. But I believe the little things help keep me grounded.” Slowly, her hand reached out and lightly touched the faded wooden trim.

“Because you are such a kind witch?” he spit out, not liking the thought of her touching the wards Max had carved all over this house. He took two steps forward and held out her watch, suddenly not wanting anything of hers in the room. She slowly moved her eyes to his outstretched hand and took two steps back into the room to take it, careful not to touch him.

“Look, Lizzie. We haven’t had the best track record with witches.” Sam was trying to help the situation, but answers were needed and with each breath he felt himself become more desperate for them.

“I understand. I haven’t had the best track record with hunters.” Lizzie gave a small smile to Sam. “Truth be told, Max was the only one I have ever become friends with.” She turned her gaze to Dean. “I am willing to answer any questions, go to any lengths, as long as you don’t shut me out right now.” as she stepped further into the room, he struggled with holding his ground and not taking a step back. “I know it was wrong to eavesdrop, but I needed to know...” she was searching his eyes for something, but he wasn’t willingly going to give anything else away to her today. “I needed...I know you don’t trust me but please, don’t feed that mistrust to Cheryll.” he watched her for a second before scoffing and crossing his arms across his chest. There would need to be some straight answers before he would consider trusting her. His mind went to the moment he first realized she had misled them...

“Why did you play scared down in the church basement?” she frowned for a second, almost as if trying to recall the memory that had only happened hours earlier. Her eyes lit up as she remembered, but the frown remained.

“Really? That’s your opening question?” Lizzie questioned with slight disbelief. He cleared his throat softly as she threw the thoughts he had had about Sam back at him. _Could she hear his thoughts??_ he wondered. **Damnithell!** he quickly thought of something that might startle her... _PUDDING!_ He shouted in his head, looking for any break in her expression, but there was none.

“Playing scared? What do you mean?” Sam chimed in, moving inside the room.

“She knows what I mean.” he glanced at his brother

“Fine. First of all, I knew what you were before you entered the kitchen.” Lizzie looked between them, “Hunters have a certain...tang about their auras.”

“Tang?” he jeered.

“Yes. Almost metallic. The older the hunter the stronger the taste.”

“Taste??”

“Dean...” Sam looked at him with a pleading face.

“What? We are talking with a witch who has lied to us, cast spells against us, and now is telling us we have a certain TASTE??” he didn’t mean to raise his voice so much, but he didn’t need Sam getting all bestie with a witch right now.

“It’s ok Sam.” Lizzie gave his brother a small smile before focusing back on him. “I haven’t lied to you, I am sure there are plenty of people you meet that have no clue you are a hunter. And I was playing at being scared because it’s easier to assess the situation when you are thought of as some poor helpless...” taking a deep breath, she took another step towards Dean, a determined set to her jaw. “I did not cast against you and I can’t help if I can feel your aura...you certainly don’t hide it. It sort of pushes into my senses and...” his eyes lit up with defiance as he interrupted her.

“You haven’t cast against me??” He closed the distance, glaring down at her.

“What happened in the church...” Lizzie glanced towards Sam and he followed her look. His brother nodded, as if trying to say he already knew about it. “I am not sure what happened.”

“Yeah right...” he sneered at her and backed off.

“Yeah. Right.” Lizzie followed, staring him down. “Yes, I was skimming thoughts. Yes, I was skimming yours. Forgive me for wanting to help with added protection today. Plus, I was a little nervous, being in a church with hunters that weren’t as open minded as Max and Cheryll.”

“We’re the good guys, sweetheart. There is no reason to be afraid if you aren’t guilty. Besides, that isn’t all that  happened and you know it.” Lizzie seemed to deflate slightly at his words.

“You won’t believe me...but I really don’t know. I have never lost control of a spell and what happened, well, that isn’t part of skimming...” she blushed under his stare, eyes not meeting his anymore.

“Cheryll said you are all-powerful” his voice was cruel. He didn’t believe her and wasn’t planning on letting her off that easy. Lizzie’s eyes snapped back to his with renewed heat.

“No one is all-powerful. Skimming isn’t mind reading, it’s like getting a feel for attitudes. What happened between us, that is called throwing and I never intended to...I have only ever done it once and it certainly didn’t end up like...” she looked away, her hands in fists, tears gathering in her eyes. He felt a moment of guilt, but it passed quickly. “Believe me, I was spooked.”

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever.” she glared at him and suddenly, through the anger, his mind betrayed him as he thought about how beautiful she looked while upset. The buzz of the charge between them hummed in his ears and he tightened his folded arms so that he wouldn’t reach out to her.

“Look here Winchester. You don’t have any clue what it’s been like here...” breathing heavily, her tears in her eyes spilled over and ran down her cheeks. His guilt returned and now refused to be shut away.

“Ok. Let’s leave this topic for now,” Sam, ever the peacemaker, was moving towards them both, hands raised. “Lizzie, can you tell us more about Max? About the curse? The other murders?” She took a deep breath and wiped at her tears, turning her back to him and taking a step towards Sam.

“Cheryll told you things started about a year ago.” Lizzie pointedly looked over her shoulder, “a month after I moved back,” looking back at Sam, she continued, “the first body was found. It was a child...from here...” she shook her head, pausing, taking another deep breath, “It was terrible. There were symbols carved into his skin but nothing we had ever seen - both Max and Cheryll as hunters or our coven. Nothing. We all mourned, police were looking for clues, as were we but it was meticulous. And that pointed towards spell craft. The second was three months later, on the new moon. An older woman.” Lizzie turned and moved, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand shook as she smoothed out the comforter and he saw more tears slide down her face. “She was part of this quilting circle that I go to.”

“Is that code for something witchy?” he gave a dark chuckle but immediately regretted the jab. Lizzie’s eyes were venomous and he couldn't look away.

“Sorry Lizzie. Please, go on.” Sam was giving him a bitch face that warned him not to push further. Tense moments passed but finally she looked away from him, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“It was then that I really got involved...and my concern grew. The phase of the moon, the symbol of 3, and the ages of the victims...3 and 63. I voiced my concerns to Max and Cheryll who, of course, had already come to the same conclusion. We began researching obscuria...a type of black magik. It’s ritualistic and horrible.” she wiped again at her cheeks. Her voice was bitter as she continued. “The coven was no help, not wanting anything to do with it. **I** wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with it.” _and she went against her coven?_   His eyebrows shot up as he dropped his arms and leaned against the dresser. “Until Max became ill. That’s when my uncle Jakob decided to try and help. But by then it was too late for Max.” sniffling slightly, Lizzie paused. Sam stepped forward to lay a hand on her shoulder but she waved him off before continuing. “Cheryll is in danger of being next. The child - the innocent. The older woman - the crone. Max was the third - I believe the Emperor. Cheryll could be the Empress. Although Jakob thinks it could be strength and justice.”

“Tarot cards?” his deep voice cut through the quiet room and Lizzie nodded.

“Yes, but not like the decks used by most today. Obscuria uses older symbology.”

“So this is a spell?” Sam asked quietly.

“Ingredients for a spell.” Lizzie nodded.

“Max was an ingredient?” he grumbled.

“I believe Max was a mistake. I really don’t think he was meant to be the third...but because he was, Cheryll could possibly be the fourth.”

“And your suspects?” Sam inquired.

“I have none.” Lizzie looked down at her hands, tightly woven together. “We had a few, but...nothing is complete, there is no facts that point one distinct way or another...”

“Nothing?” he frowned. “You said it pointed towards spell craft.” But of course a witch would protect her own before a hunter. Even if Max was good friends with Lizzie...with the coven...they wouldn’t allow a member of their family to be caught. Could that be why she stuck around? To distract hunters but inform witches _...sounds about right_. Lizzie met his eyes but the anger was gone. Now, only sad understanding shone through.

“I know you don’t believe me. Maybe it’s best not to. I got Max killed. It’s ultimately my fault.” she was almost whispering, her face fallen with self-loathing. He knew all about that feeling and its suffocating traits. “But I will not allow anything to happen to Cheryll. There are less than two months to try and piece it all together.”

“Two? You said every three?” Sam questioned.

“The _deaths_ happen every three months. But Max started to see things a month _before_ his death. At first it was little stuff. Seeing a shadow out of the corner of your eye. A spot on the floor that looked like a spider but was really dirt. But things accelerated. After two weeks he was...he was going out of his mind. Bugs crawling on him, clawing sounds in the walls. We tried everything. Counter-spells, wards, charms, psychics, church cleansing. We cast on the house, we cast on Max. Nothing helped.” She stood and began pacing in the small space between the two brothers. “Until about 25 days in...suddenly he was fine. He was up, he couldn’t hear anything untoward, feel anything unnatural. His eyes cleared and he looked himself. We weren’t sure exactly what had clicked but why question a miracle” She paused and chuckled softly. “He was Max again.” Lizzie dropped her head and the smile left her lips. Wringing her hands, she took a deep breath. “Looking back on it now, I believe he was marked since the beginning. Nothing we could have done would have helped...since that first symptom at the beginning of the month.” she was quiet for a moment, lost in her thoughts. He had been there before, thinking about a case gone wrong, if there was anything that could have changed the course of events. “I was still dropping by daily to see if everything was going good. I walked in thru the front door and Cheryll was sitting on the bottom step, weeping, just staring blankly into space. I stepped closer to ask her what was wrong and saw...Max was…” She paused again, grief cracking her voice. She turned towards him, the ghost of the memory haunting her eyes. “He was in the living room, on his stomach, with the same symbols from the first two murders all over him.”

As he stared helplessly, Lizzie seemed to crumble in front of him. If this was a spell, a trick to manipulate, he understood why Max and Cheryll had fallen for it. At that moment she was fragile and human, enveloped in grief. Sam stepped forward, wrapping one arm around her shoulders but she didn’t turn into the embrace, she didn’t seek comfort. _Because she thinks she doesn’t deserve it._  he realized, so deep in his own thoughts that it took Sam practically yelling his name to snap him back.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Could you get her some water or something?” Sam looked upset and since he felt the need to clear his head, he didn’t argue.

Leaving the room, he automatically went into the guest bath, knowing there would be a few glasses in the cupboard. Cheryll always thought of everything a guest could need, there were even little toothpastes and shampoos tucked up in the cupboards. He let the tap water run so it was cold before filling the cup. Staring in the mirror, his head spun. _Did he believe her?_ He found himself wanting to. _What would she gain from lying?_ Dead hunters...her coven claiming the town for themselves. _But the first two victims?_   She was either truly disturbed by the events or she is damn good at deception. _She’s a witch...they're all good at it._   Yet, there always seemed to be exceptions that broke his rules. Garth is a good werewolf. Benny...a reformed vampire. Cas isn’t an asshole angel. Shaking his head, Dean turned off the water and went back to the guest room. 

As he walked in, Lizzie was sitting on the bed with Sam talking to her softly. She nodded at something he said and he felt like an intruder, yet jealous of the bond that Sam seemed to be able to form with just about anyone. _So Sam had made up his mind._ Clearing his throat, he approached them and held out the glass. Lizzie looked up at him, water still pooling in her eyes, but she smiled softly in thanks and took the water from him awkwardly, not letting her fingers brush his skin. After a few long moments, giving her time to sip at the water, he decided to try push for more answers.

“Who were your suspects? You said you had a few...” he tried to keep his voice low and calm.

“Well, Max actually thought Jakob might be behind some of it. He’s been a different man since my aunt died. But I helped cast some spells that would retrace the spell’s origins and they never led anywhere towards him. They actually pointed towards two different coven members. One is Marcus, Jakob’s son. But we dismissed him because Marcus isn’t...he’s not very good with” he noticed a blush creep across her cheeks “...these spells are rather beyond him.” Although there was more to that story, he pushed the questions aside as she continued. “The other was impossible because...that witch has been dead for years.”

“What does the spell show you? When you retrace the origins?” Sam asked gently.

“Anyone who can cast has a signature attached to their spells. A color, a scent, sometimes a combination of both. The spell I cast makes that signature visible.”

“And you can’t change or hide this signature?”  

“Yes but, it would take someone very powerful to do that. And, typically, if you are that powerful you want to...brag a bit when you cast, so why hide or change it. Sometimes, when you have been a part of a coven for long enough, the signature will change slightly to align to the leaders. But that happens naturally over time.”

“What’s your signature?” he spoke softly and Sam looked up, confused as to where he was going with the question. He wasn’t really sure himself, but suddenly he needed to know. Lizzie tilted her head at him with a soft frown.

“Depends. My aunt used to say it smelled like lavender and had a pale green glow. But I see different shades of green that vary with the spells. I’ve never smelled lavender when casting.” Their eyes stayed locked for a moment too long and the blush from earlier appeared across her cheeks again. “Anyway,” she looked away and focused on her fingers. He looked at Sam whose face had changed from confused to smug and he wanted to punch the look off. “Anyway...Amelia...would have been a prime suspect from the beginning if she hadn’t passed away four years ago. She leaned more towards dark magic and was reprimanded by my aunt more than once.”

“How did she die?” Sam asked

“Illness. But I really don’t know details. I had limited contact with the coven at that time.” 

“We were told pneumonia.” Cheryll made all of them jump as she spoke from the door. “I figured I would find you all together. These boys don’t know how to back down when they have a lead.” she smiled and walked up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He gave her a tight smile, worried she would try pull them back downstairs and he had so many more questions. “You ok Lizzie?”

“Yes. I have been filling them in.” she stood and moved to hug Cheryll. “I know you might have some suspicions...but I would never hurt you or Max...” Cheryll patted Lizzie on the back and broke the hug.

“I’ll admit, Dean had my old wheels turning for a moment...but, no. I know you wouldn’t.” turning to both he and Sam, Cheryll put on a stern face. “Now. I need your help keeping the hunters here away from the civilians. Wanna keep a balance today.”

“We still need to look around the attic” Sam chuckled as he stood.

“Later. Small talk first.” Cheryll led Lizzie out of the room, no room for argument. Sam moved to follow but he held him back by grabbing his arm.

“You believe her?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes. I know there are still more questions we need to ask, but for now - I do.” He was quiet as Sam’s words sunk in.

“For now...” he rumbled

“It’s ok to let her have a break from the inquisition.” Sam patted him on the shoulder. “If we ask the same kinds of questions later and there is a change in the story, then we can be suspicious.”  He nodded in agreement and followed Sam out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any notes? Rants? Raves? All comments are welcome...


	5. Special Circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the stretch in updates. Hopefully Chapter 6 will come along quickly!

The rest of the day dragged by. Dean caught glimpses of his brother wandering between rooms, lucky SOB, but he was stuck to the couch between four old ladies, apparently part of Lizzie’s quilting circle. Edith, the feisty lady to his left, kept rubbing circles on his knee. Judy, on his right, kept giving Edith the stink eye. It would be funny if he wasn’t the one stuck in the crossfire. They droned on and on about Max and who would now help with odd jobs around their aging homes, all the while giving Dean generous smiles and commenting on how strong he looked. As Lizzie walked past alone, he saw his chance at an exit.

“Lizzie!” he shouted a bit too loudly, too enthusiastically. She jumped and turned, startled. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure but I need to speak with Miss Lizzie for a moment.”

“Careful cutie.” Edith grabbed his hand as he rose, winking at him. “She’s engaged.” Dean just smiled and turned, but before escaping completely, he felt a sharp pinch on his behind that caused him to jolt forward directly into said engaged woman. She stumbled back slightly, her arms out to steady him, his arms going around her instinctively to stop her from falling. They both froze. Dean’s skin was buzzing, she felt perfect right there in his arms and all he could do was stare into her hazel eyes. They were wide and open, just as they had been upstairs when she had been retelling everything that had happened over the past months. As if in slow motion, Lizzie licked her lips, drawing his attention to them, his mind going on autopilot, wondering what they would feel like pressed against his. Only when he heard the chuckling behind him did he finally come out of the haze and release Lizzie clumsily, rubbing his neck, trying to hide the blush he could feel rising. Thankfully Lizzie came to her senses first and looked around Dean to the couch of old ladies.

“Edith. You don’t play fair.” she scolded with a smile. Then, turning her gaze to him, she spoke in a mock whisper, “Now that you have escaped, what’s the plan?”

“Didn’t really plan that far.” he replied in the same mock whisper, thankful that she was making light of the situation.

“Oh hush,” Eidth added, standing and moving to their sides. “We need to be going anyway.” The other three ladies moved to rise, talking amongst themselves. “You won’t forget Lizzie? This Thursday - special circle.” Dean looked from Edith’s sneaky smile to Lizzie, her eyes lit with the same mirth. He smirked slightly, her joy contagious. Also...those lips...

“How could I forget? You threatened bodily harm with a quilting needle should I forget!” Lizzie laughed and Dean couldn’t stop the warmth that spread in his chest at the sound.

“You know she is just an old bag of hot air.” Judy spoke from the other side of Dean, laying her hand on his bicep and squeezing slightly. “All bark and no bite. Me on the other hand...” she winked at Dean and actually growled as she smiled widely at him. Lizzie laughed harder now, no doubt at his dumbfounded expression.

“Puh-lease Judy, you wish.” Edith gently swiped at Judy’s hand and it dropped from Dean’s arm. “Are you coming with me or walking home?” Giving Lizzie a peck on the cheek, Edith winked once again at Dean and began to move towards the front door.

“All right, all right.” Judy spoke without looking back at either Lizzie or Dean. As the ladies moved out of sight, Dean noticed that several people were deciding to take that moment to leave. Quickly, the house was becoming quieter. Awkwardly, he stood in his spot, trying to think of something to say to Lizzie that would keep things casual between them.

“They always so frisky?” _aaaaand that is what my mind comes up with_. Lizzie smiled but Dean noticed it didn’t reach her eyes any longer. He found himself missing the warmth that had been there only moments before.

“You have to be frisky in order to survive in that quilting circle.” She laughed softly.

“So does that include you?” his voice lowered and he leaned in slightly. It was a harmless flirt that, with anyone else, would have seemed normal. But as Lizzie’s eyebrows rose, Dean realized it might not have been the right tactic to go with.

“You really know how to run hot and cold, don’t you.” her voice held no malice, only exhaustion, and Dean took a step back.

“It’s been a weird day.” he replied, rubbing a hand over his face. When she didn’t respond he dared a glance and she was looking at him with an odd mix of confusion and determination on her face.

“Yes. It has.” her voice was small and she continued to stare at him. “Have you decided?”

“Decided?” he parroted back to her. The way she was watching him was beginning to unnerve his calm that had prevailed the past few hours. Honestly, he had been so preoccupied with flirty old ladies, he hadn’t had much of a chance to think of anything but escape. 

“To trust me.” Lizzie looked down at the floor, awaiting his judgement. Did he? Could he? Everything she had shared seemed up front and honest. And she had shared more than he had expected her to.

“For now...” Her eyes snapped back to his and he could see a spark of defiance behind her gaze. Heaven help him, it was a turn on.

“So what’s the next hoop?” her voice was steady but he could feel a rising tension. Slowly he lifted his hands in defence.

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. Like Sam said, not the best track record. I **am** trying...” It looked like she was holding her breath as he stumbled through his words and Dean watched as the emotion in her eyes shifted again. 

“Sorry.” she took a deep breath and a step towards him. The hair on his arms stood on end and he repressed a shiver. “So am I...trying, I mean.” Rolling her eyes, she released a small chuckle and shook her head. “Even though there are less people, does it feel warmer in here?” Her hand came up to fan herself slightly. “You just...we gotta find out what is going on here because you are just...such a big distraction.” Dean felt his eyes grow wide as she moved her hand slowly up to his bicep and, just before she touched him, snatched her hand away. “Your arms are insanely sexy…” He frowned, looked from his left arm back to Lizzie with a question on his lips but she continued quickly. “And I am rambling out loud now. Wow. No filter suddenly.” She started pacing in front of him. “It’s gotta be some kinda spell but what would it be? I should be able to feel it right? The source should be able to be found for someone who is _all powerful_?” The glare in her eyes was fleeting and was replaced with worry. “I should have never come back.”

“Hey you guys” Sam interrupted as he walked into the room. “I am going to start cleaning up. Paper plates and cups and such.”

“Great.” Lizzie stepped away, her voice turning light and carefree. “I’ll go to the kitchen and start getting food into containers.” She turned quickly and fled the room. It all happened so quickly, Dean was stuck to his spot, still absorbing everything she had just said. Sam gave him a quizzical that he ignored, deciding to just start collecting empty cups, leaving Sam to think whatever he wanted.

“Did you say something to upset her again?” Sam sighed as he asked, not able to leave the tension in the room alone. 

“No.” Dean moved to the sofa table, stacking a few plates on top of each other.

“Because, I know we didn’t get to finish upstairs but, I really think she is being honest with us.” Sam worked to clean the other side of the room.

“I know. You wanna be besties. Maybe invite her over to braid your hair.” Dean scoffed then took a deep breath. He _was_ running hot and cold. More so than usual. “Sorry Sammy.” he interrupted before his brother could comment. Turning, he sat down in an armchair, putting the plates on the floor. He put his head in his hands for a moment before looking up. “Honestly? I don’t know what’s got me so on edge. And **that** might be driving me more crazy.” Sam had stopped to look at him, listening without judgement. It was one of the many things that he loved and envied about his brother. “It’s everything that’s happened today, and yet none of it really because I have been wound up about coming here since we got the phone call from Cheryll.” He leaned back in the chair, laying his head back and closing his eyes. “It’s Max being gone...” He looked at Sam to find him nodding in agreement. 

“You know, I always thought of Max more as a father figure than buddy. He had the house, the wife, and still worked the job. He had it all.” Sam smiled sadly and Dean mirrored him.

“Yeah.” Standing quickly before this chick flick moment had him tearing up. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, we always do.”

“And Lizzie?” Picking up the plates again and grabbing a few cups, he didn’t look at Sam when he answered. Lizzie. What, it had been, less than ten hours? And she was in the middle of all his thoughts. Her face, words, smell...

“For now. Trust her. Kind of. She is our only ‘in’ right now to the coven.”

“And whatever is going on between you two? What the hell is going on between you two??” Sammy chuckled, stopping in front of Dean with a smirk, his hands full of discarded plated and cups. Dean sighed and shook his head.

“Not sure. She thinks it’s a spell. Part of a spell she cast that got away from her or something cast by someone else.” He paused, looking at his brother, appreciating that there was only sincerity looking back at him, no mocking. “Truth?” Sam nodded, indicating Dean should continue. He did, but at a near-whisper. “I believe that she doesn’t know what’s going on...But I don’t believe she is innocent.” Sam was quiet, taking in Dean’s opinion, then he nodded again and stepped away, headed towards the kitchen with the garbage. Picking up the last cup, Dean followed, moving through the hall to the kitchen, glancing downstairs as he passed by. Cheryll was busy putting food away, no Lizzie in sight.

“She just left?” Sam was asking and Cheryll shrugged, putting a large container of potatoes in the fridge.

“She is exhausted, I told her I would call if I needed anything.” Dean frowned, his ears picking up on the rumble of Lizzie’s mustang starting then pulling away. “You boys want anything, help yourselves. This fridge is going to bust under the amount of food inside here.” Cheryll sighed and smiled sadly at the boys. “I am going to take a long shower and collapse. Just need some time...” Her gaze dropped to the floor and Dean stepped forward, giving her a gentle hug.

“No worries. We will finish up down here.” He felt her nod against his chest, her breath coming out in soft gasps. As Dean released her, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. Sam moved in next, rubbing her back as he hugged her. She wiped at her eyes as she moved away from them and they stood there in silence, listening to her climb the stairs.

The brothers both moved quietly, finishing cleaning up. As Dean was grabbing at the last plate, some of the food spilled onto the floor, scattering under a chair. Swearing, he knelt down to grab the stray pieces. As he moved to grab the last piece, something caught his eye. There was a small piece of black cloth sticking out of the floor register. Dean moved the chair out of his way and leaned forward to take a closer look.

“Sam?” He called out.

“Dean?” Sam answered back, walking into the living room where he was crouched behind the chair. Without speaking, he turned, showing his brother the hex bag he had found under the grating.


	6. 6 6 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/2/18 - Chapter 6 has been updated. The formatting was all wrong PLUS I uploaded an earlier draft. This is the one I meant to post. Added scenes and some more depth. Sorry all!

“Sorry.” she took a deep breath and a step towards Dean. He had just been honest with her, she might as well return the favor. “So am I...trying, I mean.” The nervous chuckle that escaped her was not attractive. “Even though there are less people, does it feel warmer in here?” _Nice one Lizzie_ ... “You just...we gotta find out what is going on here because you are just...such a big distraction.” _Huh? Where did that come from? And what the hell...was she reaching for his_ **_arm_ ** _?_ Just before she touched him, she snatched her hand away. “Your arms are insanely sexy…” she mumbled “And I am rambling out loud now. Wow. No filter suddenly.” Pacing was a nervous tick, ever since she was little, she even used to pace when she was studying. “It’s gotta be some kinda spell but what would it be? I should be able to feel it right? The source should be able to be found for someone who is _all powerful_?” His words still stung from earlier. Earlier...she had laid everything out for these two hunters. Thoughts of all the things that had happened since she moved here swirled in her mind. “I should have never come back.”

“Hey you guys” Sam interrupted as he walked into the room. “I am going to start cleaning up. Paper plates and cups and such.”

“Great.” Lizzie stepped away, seeing **her** chance for an escape. “I’ll go to the kitchen and start getting food into containers.” She turned quickly and fled the room. _“Did you say something to upset her again?”_ she heard Sam  as she sprinted away from the situation. She had to find a solution to this. Cheryll’s life was on the line. She couldn’t keep being rerouted at the sight of that stupid face...and voice...and those stupid arms…

“Lizzie?” someone was talking to her. Blinking rapidly she focused on Cheryll. “You have been doing so much around here, we can handle the clean-up”

“I can help.” she smiled as Cheryll patted her arm.

“You help all the time. Really, I think I am going to make the boys do all the work and I am just going to go take a long shower.” Lizzie was going to protest but Cheryll shook her head and stopped her before she could. “I promise I will call you if I need anything.”

A wave of exhaustion hit her and suddenly all she could think about was sinking into her own bed. Nodding her agreement, she hugged her friend, grabbed her purse, and went out the back door. The day had turned overcast and she hoped she could get home before any downpours started. She loved rainy days and the sound of thunder, the smell of rain was the best fresh scent...as long as she was indoors when it was all happening. Slowly she backed out of the alleyway and drove home.

Pulling into her driveway about twenty minutes later, she could hear the first roll of thunder as she walked from her garage to her back door. She loved this little house, her sanctuary from the stress that had invaded her life. Nothing big like Max and Cheryll’s, it was a quaint, just right for her. It had been the one condition with her moving back, she had to have her own space. She had warded, blessed, and grounded the entire house herself, no coven needed.

Stepping inside, she felt her shoulders relax slightly as the peace she had created here embraced her. Slipping off her shoes, she walked into her kitchen and went about brewing some tea. As the kettle was heating up, Lizzie moved into the living room and turned on some of the lamps she had scattered about. Soft, warm light filled up the small space and she plopped into her plush armchair by the window. Rain was starting to splatter against her picture window. _Perfect timing_ she thought. The worn journal that sat by her chair was full of recent events. Theories, ideas, spells, all trying to piece this horrible puzzle together.

Slowly she opened it and paged through. There was something she was missing. The thought that it was going to be something obvious haunted her.. Everything they had learned about the obscuria, everything pointed towards a witch. Her eyes landed on the name Amelia in the middle of the open page. It was impossible. She was dead. Icky-rotting-years dead. She had been cremated on a pyre and sealed in the coven mausoleum. Dead. _Could she have passed on her magik to someone? Taught someone while she was alive?_ But the spell craft would have traced back to the witch casting. And Amelia had only been accused of looking into black magik, there was never any evidence of practicing it that Lizzie knew of. Plus, you would have to be very powerful to even call upon the forces needed, much less to complete the rituals. There was no one around, that could do that. _Except maybe myself…_

The kettle began to whistle and slowly Lizzie put her journal down, her mind racing. She poured water over peppermint tea leaves and walked upstairs to her room, planning to let it steep while taking a quick shower. The hot water began to help relieve the tension in her shoulders and back. It was in the middle of lathering up her hair that his face drifted into her thoughts. Sighing, she tried to shake it clear. Focus on the puzzle. But he was still there. Rinsing her hair clean, she reached for a towel and gave in. _Ok. What_ **_is_ ** _going on with Winchester._

It was a spell. So she should trace it. Break it. Possibly kick the ass of whoever thought it was a good idea to cast on her. And then re-focus. But nagging questions kept getting in her way. Why couldn’t she feel it if it was a spell? When was it cast? HOW was it cast? Someone at the funeral?  

As she was recalling in her mind the attendees at the church, she finished dressing in a soft sweatshirt and yoga pants. Twisting her hair into a messy bun, she slowly sipped at her tea, which was now just the right temperature. She opened the top drawer of her nightstand and retrieved her deck of tarot cards, then moved across the hall to the guest bedroom. The room was intended to be a comfy retreat for any possible guests in need of a place to stay. From the daybed in the corner covered with plump pillows to the large, multi-color, woven rug in the middle of the floor to the shabby old dresser off to the right. But mainly, she used it to meditate and cast. _Not like anyone would be visiting,_ she thought sadly. Under the rug was a pentagram. In the drawers of the dresser were the tools she used in spell craft. Runes were carved into the window and several herbal oils were rubbed into the wooden beams on the ceiling.

Sitting in the middle of the large rug, Lizzie tried to clear her mind. She shuffled the deck of cards in her hand and slowly began a spell of sight, trying to find answers to who was casting against her. Slowly she laid out cards, her eyes closed. When she felt a spark, she looked down onto the Wheel of Fortune card. _Great_ she muttered. _Follow the flow of events_ , her aunt's voice echoed in her head. She had been the one to first teach her about using the cards to seek answers. Physical or spiritual awakenings could arise now. Accept and go with the flow. _Yeah right_. She gathered the cards and tried to focus again on her problem of Dean Winchester. Her head was so jumbled, that card had to have been for one of the other gazillion questions in her noggin.

Eyes closed, she laid out cards again. The same spark came more quickly this time and she opened her eyes. Lizzie snatched her hand away quickly at what she saw. Ten of swords. Backstabbing. Lying. Unwelcome surprise. Before she could explore deeper meaning, a shock of electricity ran up her spine. Gasping, Lizzie turned around, staring at the empty open door behind her. Slowly she stood, quietly moving across the room and into the small hallway. Looking down the stairs that led to her living room, she felt a cool breeze creep across her feet and curled her toes. Someone was in her house that she hadn’t invited. The smell hit her next. The same tang she had tasted in the basement of the church. Had a hunter followed her home? But how did he get in? Members of her own coven couldn’t get in this place.

Quietly she moved down the steps. As she reached the middle, Lizzie crouched slightly, giving her a clear view of her front door and her living room. What she saw left her befuddled.  Sam Winchester was standing on her front porch smiling sheepishly at her through the screen door. Dean Winchester was in her living room, seemingly oblivious to her presence, looking at her journal. Several seconds ticked away as she looked back and forth between the brothers, her mouth hanging open in shock. Then anger reared. When she finally found her voice, she began yelling as she ran down the stairs to rip her journal out of his hands.

“What the HELL are you are doing here? HOW the hell are you in here? Breaking into my home?? Reading my books?? Have you absolutely no manners or do you really think that witches aren’t allowed to have simple liberties such as privacy?” By the time she finished her rant, the journal was clutched against her chest and Dean was in her armchair, staring up at her with a look of disbelief and maybe a hint of fear.

“It was open” he said slowly, looking from the open door back to her. She glanced over at Sam who was still standing at the door, smiling yet straining to see the two of them from the angle they were at in the room. Turning back to Dean, Lizzie was confused, her anger waning.

“It’s never open. I would never leave it open..." 

“No.” he said, unfolding himself from the chair. “I mean unlocked. I didn’t break in.” his clarification didn’t really clear anything up.

“But. How did you...it’s more than just the physical door...it’s...” she took a step away from him, fear creeping into her confusion. “There are wards.”

“Yeah...um...” Sam spoke from the doorway. “I still can’t come in. Sorta stuck actually.” she ignored him and kept her eyes on Dean. This was impossible. He took a step towards her and she took another step away.

“Maybe this let me in?” he held up a small brown leather bag tied with red twine. She noticed the runes etched into the leather and was almost certain she knew who it belonged to.  “Like knows like. Enough of your magik in here to let me slide past?” She shook her head, it didn’t work that way. But he persisted, his expression growing annoyed. “Why I am here? I wanna know why you are leaving hex bags all around Max and Cheryll’s place.”

“Where did you find it?” she asked quietly.

“Why? Want to know where to put a fresh one?”

“Come on Dean, don’t start anything. Really, we just wanted to talk with you about it.” Sam was leaning against her screen door, trying to be a part of the conversation.

“Please, come in Sam.” Lizzie spoke calmly, glancing towards the door to see Sam step through with a relieved smile, but Dean was still scowling. She didn’t care. She was still spooked about the fact that he was standing in her living room without having been invited in. What the hell kind of hunter was he? She was going to have to find something stronger. He could just wander in on a whim and burn her at the stake. “I was just having some tea. Peppermint. Care for some?” she was trying to keep her voice steady and not flee from her own living room. Slowly she turned her back to them and left, walking into her kitchen. There was a moment of quiet before she heard them follow.

“I’m ok for now, thanks.” Sam answered politely. Dean just held up the hex bag.

“Want to tell me why you are leaving...” she interrupted him before he could accuse her of random magik again.

“It isn’t mine.” Lizzie leaned against the counter, looking into Dean’s eyes. “I think I know whose it is but you would have to let me touch it.”

“And damn the evidence?” Dean scoffed. Lizzie simply lifted a cocky eyebrow.

“Yes, putting my own fingerprints on something you are accusing me of being mine in the first place. What a mastermind I am.” Dean frowned and pouted slightly. Pouted. And blessed moon, if she didn’t find it so damn attractive.

“I meant you could do something witchy to it.” he mumbled before rolling his eyes and tossing the bag onto the counter. Smirking slightly, she reached for the bag. Lizzie turned it over in her hands, a sickening feeling sliding into her stomach. The bag felt slimy. She knew who created it.

“But it doesn’t make sense.” she mumbled. Sam was staring intently at her.

“You want to share?” he asked quietly.

"I will, but I need some answers first." Lizzie looked at Dean, setting the hex bag back on the counter. She picked up her cup of tea and began stirring it slowly, focusing on the liquid swirling. "The door was unlocked?"

"Yes." he sighed. "Not that I couldn't break in, cause I got skills." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at her and it took a lot of willpower to keep focused. Returning to her cup, she took a deep breath.

"When you let yourself in...did you knock first?" 

"Yep. You didn't answer"

"Cause I never heard you knock." she frowned, her mind trying to figure out where her wards had failed. "Did you feel anything odd when you stepped into the house?"

"A shiver, like Sam had maybe touched my back but when I turned around he was stuck on the front porch."

"And you just decided to leave him there and honed in on my journal?"

"I couldn't focus on anything else."

"Like it drew you in? But it has a ward on it too...could you read the pages?"

"Yes, even though it felt odd to touch it."

"Odd like how?"

"My eyes had problems staying focused on the words and images..." Suddenly, Sam was shaking her shoulder roughly. That's when Lizzie noticed Dean was standing stiff, his knees locked, his arms at his sides, his hands curled into fists. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Sam and set down her tea cup, holding up her hands. 

"That wasn't me!" Dean was finally released from whatever it was holding him and he was leaning against the counter for support, breathing heavy. "I didn't even...I didn't know that I was even casting!!" Tears came to her eyes and she looked between Dean and Sam. "This is not good."

"You think?" Dean grumbled, flexing and stretching his arms and legs. Sam rubbed her arm in support and gave her a weak smile. But she didn't need his support. She needed answers. The lost feeling that washed over her made her long for the company of her aunt Virginia. On top of which, she wasn't gaining any trust with these stupid outbursts of magik. The mystery of Dean being able to enter her house willingly would have to be put on hold for the moment. 

"I am sorry Dean. Truly. I will try be more aware of my actions until I know what is going on." wiping at a stray tear, Lizzie couldn't even look at the man. Instead, she focused on the hex bag again, not giving him a chance to reply.  “It’s...it was made by Marcus. But he hasn’t been to the house...ever...that I know of.”

“Marcus was someone you were suspicious of?” Dean asked quietly and she jumped slightly. He was standing close and she looked up into his green eyes. Clearing her throat, she looked up at Sam with his kind eyes and then decided it was safest to stare straight ahead. All she wanted to do was kiss one of them and confess her soul to the other. Focusing on the question...

“Yes but, he’s not that good at, well, anything really. Just never had the touch. More brute strength.”

“Maybe he’s tricked you somehow. Lied about what he can do?” Sam offered. Lizzie’s eyes widened as Sam's words sparked a memory.

“Ten of Swords” she whispered and turned to move around Dean and out of the kitchen, into the living room, turning her fast walk into a sprint as she moved up the stairs and back into the spare bedroom. Her cards were all where she had left them. The ten of swords still glaring up. She sat down, ignoring the voices of the two men downstairs. Slowly she moved her hand over the card and let it hover just above the waxy surface. Closing her eyes, she focused warmth from her palm onto the card itself, warming the image and trying to unlock the meaning. Lizzie was barely aware of the footsteps coming up the stairs but she couldn’t shut out their voices as they entered the room.

“Shhh.” She addressed them both without looking at them and hoped they would just trust her for a moment. Feeling their hesitance, she sighed. “Yes, they are tarot cards. No, I am not doing anything dark and witchy Dean. I was looking at them for some guidance when you barged in and freaked me out. I feel the shiver on my spine too, by the way." Closing her eyes, knowing she was rambling again, she grew quiet. "But...just give me a few moments of silence ok?” When she heard no response, she assumed they were giving her what she had asked for. Returning her focus to the card, it didn’t take long for images to come forward. Her uncle Jakob, first smiling at her then scowling. He faded quickly and Marcus took his place, no love in his eyes. Then came her aunt Virginia, a worried look on her face, her mouth forming words Lizzie couldn’t decipher. But the strongest image was the last. Max and Cheryll. Max looked disappointed, Cheryll was laughing at her.

\--------------------------------------------------------

“Lizzie...it’s ok. I’ve got you. You are safe.”

_Someone was screaming._

“Do we need to move her? Maybe it’s the cards...” _Sam sounded concerned. Could he hear the screaming?_

“Don’t touch them Sam!” _Bossy pants Dean. Lizzie smirked at that._  

 _"Follow the flow of events..." her aunt called to her and she saw the wheel of fortune card float into her vision._   

The screaming stopped suddenly and Lizzie blinked her eyes. She felt a strong warmth surrounding her and realized she was sitting on the floor being held by Dean Winchester.

“Welcome back” He looked concerned even though his deep voice tried to sound cheerful. His warm arm was wrapped around her upper back, supporting her as she took in the surroundings. “You’ve got quite a set of lungs.” again, his voice teased but his eyes were cautious and worried. Confused, she pushed away from him slightly. He released his hold immediately and the hurt she thought she saw flash across his features was quickly replaced with indifference.

“Was I was the one screaming?” she tested her voice, her throat felt bruised. Dazed, Lizzie looked over to the cards. She had had a vision. Tarot cards didn’t do that. “I wish my parameters would stop being tested.” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead as a headache blossomed there. Shivering, she felt Dean shift away from her and stand up. She missed his warmth. 

“What do you mean? Parameters for what?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Spells going haywire, jolts of electricity, crazy black magic, friends being cursed, tarot cards giving visions.” Lizzie rubbed her forehead, aware she was rambling. “Up is down right now and I have more questions than answers.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean’s deep voice had her looking at him over her shoulder. He smiled gently and she found herself returning the smile. 

“What did you see?” Sam was bent over the cards, staring at them like they would bite. Lizzie slowly moved next to Sam, testing her muscles as they groaned in protest.

“The Ten of Swords stands for unexpected surprises, never the good party kind. Backstabbing, lying, false truths.” Sam looked at her and she took a deep breath to continue. “I had just flipped it over when I felt you guys in the house. I didn’t have a chance to ponder, but when we were in the kitchen and you mentioned Marcus tricking me..” pointing to the card in question she continued. “I remembered the card. When I put my hand over it, I saw my uncle...then Marcus...next was my aunt Virginia but I don’t think she was supposed to be with the others, like she was trying to cut in and get a message through...then Max and Cheryll.” she fell quiet, not sure if they would believe her. Then Sam put a hand on her shoulder and smiled sadly at her. How many girls had crumbled for those puppy dog eyes? 

“I used to have visions. The headaches after suck.” Lizzie nodded and wondered again just who these hunters really were. Breaking wards and having visions. Better to have them on her side than against her.

“Not to kill the bonding moment here, but this Marcus guy who apparently made the hex bag and ghosted it into Max’s house? I think we need to meet him.” Dean took a step closer.

“Right. Not gonna happen.” Lizzie bent forward to collect her tarot cards, hesitantly touching the Ten of Swords. When nothing happened she continued creating a neat pile.

“Not sure if you get to decide that.” Dean asked, his voice gruff. Standing, she looked him in the eye.

“Marcus lives with the coven. They aren’t going to let you anywhere near the house, much less let hunters question their _heir apparent_. Besides, he’s out of town til tomorrow.” Dean frowned slightly but Lizzie continued, not wanting another battle of wills. “I will go ask him about it, report back to you guys tomorrow when I come to check on Cheryll.”

“Don’t think so sweetheart.” Dean crossed his arms across his chest.

“Is the 'sweetheart' thing to annoy me or woo me?” Lizzie tried to make light and mimicked his stance, trying to redirect the conversation.

“Is that all it takes to woo you?” 

“Oh hun. Words will only get you so far. I need a man of action.” His eyes grew dark and Lizzie's widened with shock at what she had just said.  _Was she flirting outright with a hunter?_ Sam cleared his throat and she had never been more thankful for a distraction.

“We might have some questions of our own...is what I think Dean is getting at...” When she broke her eyes away from the green gaze, she noticed a slight blush on Sam’s cheeks. 

“I understand, but you won’t get that wish right away. Let me talk to him first. They have all been spooked the past few days with more and more hunters stopping by to see Cheryll.”

“What are you protecting?” Dean asked accusingly. _Yep, flirt time is over. Hot and Cold._ Taking a deep breath she tried to look calm and sincere. 

“Honestly? I am protecting you two.” Feeling fidgety under the growing tension, Lizzie moved out of the room, across the hall, and into her bedroom. She put the tarot cards on her nightstand and walked back to the doorway, leaning on the frame. “The coven has different ways, different priorities. I want to save Cheryll, they want to find the witch that is casting. It might seem like the same thing but it is different because they could care less if Cheryll dies. You two are the only ones with my priorities.” She took a step towards the brothers who were now loitering in her upstairs hall. What an insane day it had become. “This is that trust moment. You need to trust me to get this ball rolling. I, in turn, am going to trust that your ability to cross my barriers," she looked at Dean pointedly, "is not going to result in me getting tied to a stake and burned." Rubbing her forehead she felt very weary, just wanting this one promise for the night so she could sleep away the day and try for more answers tomorrow. "I am not saying you can never talk to Marcus...just trust that this is the way we need to go about it. Can you do that?”


	7. Wheel of Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there is a bit more smexy and swearing in this one. Gotta start earning my rating.

It had almost been 24 hours since he had seen her. 

They had left shortly after the whole vision thing, trusting her to get things going with the coven. Returning to Max’s,  _ or was it only Cheryll’s now _ , they began looking for other hex bags and found a total of six. The total didn’t include the master bedroom, which Cheryll had hid herself away in the rest of the night. Sam felt they shouldn’t bother her with the fact that her house was full of spell craft until the next day. It worried Dean but he agreed, she had been through enough that day. The brothers had eventually retired into the quiet of their own bedrooms, but Dean was unable to sleep. Lizzie’s face was there whether he closed his eyes or not. She had said it had to be a spell and he thought the same, but when was it cast? They had only been in town minutes before arriving at the church. Had only been in the church moments before going downstairs and discovering her there. 

Dean groaned quietly at the thought of her bent over in the kitchen with that tight black skirt on. Her eyes flashing in defiance as she stood close. And then later when she was dressed all soft and comfortable. As he held her in his arms, trying to silent her screams. Smiles and flirting. Sitting up in his bed he had tried to think about anything but her and his growing need. Unsuccessful, he had had to take a shower to resolve the situation, his imagination rich with thoughts of unexplored curves and soft moans.

Now, the next day, she was still distracting his mind. But not in the sexy way as the night before. Now he was all nerves and frustration at not hearing from her.

“It’s only 6:30”  Sam spoke from the kitchen table, several old books open in front of him. Dean scowled in his direction and took another sip of beer. 

“Lizzie will be here soon. Marcus wasn’t supposed to be back til earlier this afternoon.”  Cheryll chuckled and looked over her shoulder at the two of them from the stove. They had filled her in on what they had found yesterday. There were no additional hex bags in her room that they knew of but she had seemed rather calm about the whole thing.

“Sure” Dean all but grunted. “She is just filling them in on the next step in their plan...” He looked over to Sam who was just shaking his head as he continued his research.

“Now, now” Cheryll admonished, “You said you promised to trust her. Let things unfold.” she walked up to Dean with a spoon of spaghetti sauce and held it out for him to taste. Petulantly rolling his eyes he obliged and smiled at the taste that hit his tongue.  

“Perfect, as always.” he grinned. “But you don’t have to do this. I can cook you know.” 

“Oh hush. I need something to do and being in the kitchen has always been a good way to waste time.” Cheryll had returned to the stove and started to fill a bowl with pasta and sauce, placing a large meatball right on top. She turned and held it out for Dean whose mouth started to water at the home made meal. 

“Alright. Don’t twist my arm or anything.” He took the bowl and gave Cheryll a kiss on the cheek. 

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

At eight Dean was ready to jump out of his skin, sure that Lizzie had either duped them or she was hurt. Amazingly, the first scenario actually made him less edgy than the second. 

“I am going over there.” he grumbled to Sam. He sat down across from the spot his brother still occupied, a dish towel on his shoulder, the dishes all clean and put away from supper. Cheryll had called it an early evening again. 

“She will be in touch soon.” Sam mumbled for the millionth time, not even bothering to look up.

“Sure. But if I go over there I am saving her a phone call.”

“Dean.” Sam looked up, running a hand through his hair, “She. Said. To. Trust. Her.” He looked at Sam for a moment, his mind running through events last night before making up his mind.

“I am going over there.” Sam sighed and closed the book he had been reading. 

“Do you even know where ‘over there’ is?” Dean looked away for a moment, not sure how Sam would take the next piece of information.

“I might have put tracking on Lizzie’s car yesterday.”

“What? When did you do that?” Sam asked loudly. Dean shushed him looking up at the ceiling. 

“After we talked with her...after Cheryll made us go downstairs...before the old lady couch invasion.” While Dean was pleased that he was able to pull off such sneakiness behind a witch’s back, Sam’s scowl said otherwise.

“So, you didn’t get directions to Lizzie’s from Cheryll yesterday?” Dean just shook his head no in reply, waiting for more reprimands, but they never came. Instead, Sam rolled his eyes and stood up. “Fine. But I am going along with this because I am worried about Lizzie, not because I think she has skipped town or something.” Dean smiled and stood, flinging the dish towel in the sink.  _ Me too Sammy, me too _

  
\----------------------------------------------------------

The tracker led them to the outskirts of town and down a narrow gravel road. The house that laid at the end of a long series of twists and bends was not what they were expecting. It wasn’t really a house. It was more like a manor. A castle.  _ No, too big. A mansion...but with turrets _ Dean’s mind reasoned as they parked Baby off to the side by a patch of trees. They had turned off all the lights as the turned the bend that finally led to the place. Dean could see Lizzie’s Mustang parked alongside other, more dramatic vehicles. Two lamborghini, a porsche…

“Clown car” nudging Sam, he whispered while pointing to the red corvette. Sam shook his head and looked at Dean seriously.

“What is your plan now that we are here?” 

“Go up and knock?” Dean shrugged. If it was a typical case, they might rush in and gank a few until they found someone who would talk. But they were here to play nice.   

“Great plan.” Sam whispered, frowning. “Let’s at least check out the grounds to see what we are up against?”

“Right. I meant after that.” Dean didn’t wait to see what face Sam would be pulling on him. Quietly he crept towards the side of the massive building, towards a set of windows that had lights on inside. Sam was right behind him and they crouched low as they got closer to avoid being seen.  Pressed against the house, slowly they both straightened just enough to see inside the window. It was a small library with large shelves full of books and appeared empty. 

“Probably all full of witchy spells.” Dean whispered, wrinkling his nose.

“Maybe Lizzie and this coven really are different Dean.” Sam whispered back. Before Dean could come back with a snarky reply, a sound caused both of them to spin around. A formidable man stood staring at them. Dressed in a black suit, he looked unmovable. The Rock had nothing on this guy as far as muscles were concerned. His severe haircut, buzzed close to his scalp, added to the overall picture that screamed ‘don’t fuck with me’.

“We weren’t expecting guests tonight.” the strangers deep voice wasn’t friendly.  _ Wait...was this clown car guy? _ Dean wasn’t sure but he thought it might be.

“We weren’t expecting to be guests.” Dean quipped with a smirk that quickly fell as Sam slapped his arm. “Um...we are friends of Lizzie.”

“Elizabeth doesn’t need more friends that are Hunters.” he still just stood there, staring. It was starting to play on Dean’s nerves. 

“We were supposed to meet with her this evening but became worried when she hadn’t contacted us.” Sam spoke firmly but with respect. Dean didn’t think this guy deserved it. There was something unsettling about him beyond his looks. “If you could just let her know we are...” Instantly Sam collapsed as the stranger waved a hand in his direction. Anger flared as Dean rushed forward. 

“You son of a bitch!” but he only got three steps before the ground rose up to meet him and darkness took over. 

  
\----------------------------------------------------

“Dean...” Sam was calling him. 

“Go run another lap. I want five more minutes” he mumbled. Dean tried shifting to get more comfortable, his shoulders were sore. 

“Dean!” with his brothers shout, Dean sat up straight and struggled for a moment against his bindings. Confused by his surroundings, his eyes focused on his brother who was tied up in a chair next to him. 

“You ok?” 

“A bit fuzzy. What did that guy hit us with?” Sam squinted as he talked. 

“Magik.” Dean groaned. The knot that held his hands together was well done, probably bound with magic too. Damnithell. Looking around, it seemed like they were in some kind of basement room. There was a damp earth smell that permeated the air and the walls were a mess of huge boulders and concrete. The floor was a grey slab that angled slightly down to a small circular drain that was a few feet in front of them. Against the far right corner, where he was sure he would be seeing bars, was what looked like an old wooden door. The ceiling was another grey slab, with a large bright white bulb hanging down on an old black cord. But that was it. No weapons, no tools of torture, nothing. 

“I can’t even loosen the rope...” Sam was mumbling.

“Probably cursed.” Dean started to rock the chair back and forth. If he could land with enough force on his back, maybe the chair would bust apart. Yet the sounds of footsteps coming down stairs stopped his plan. Sam looked at his brother before both of them focused on the opening door. It paused after only a few inches. Someone was peeking in at them before quickly opening the door, jumping in the room, and then closing the door just as quickly. 

“So much for trust!” Lizzie spun on them, whispering her angry thoughts. She moved over to Sam first, crouching by his feet and starting on the knot that held them together. 

“Sorry for being worried!” Dean could angry whisper too, but he shrunk back slightly at the glare she gave him.

“You were NOT worried!” The knot she was working on slowly unwound and she sat up slightly to begin work on the rope across Sam’s chest, holding his body to the chair. Dean fought down a wave of jealousy at seeing her kneeling between Sam’s legs, not sure why at this moment his libido chose to betray him. Maybe it was her bootcut jeans that seemed to hug her hips just right. Or the long sleeve red t-shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail but no curl from the other day, all straight. Her accusing tone brought him out of his haze. “You were sick of waiting on a WITCH and thought I must be playing you for fools”

“We  **were** worried Lizzie. And then this guy knocked us out...” Sam winced slightly as the rope tightened for a moment as she worked at a difficult kink. 

“Patrick found you. We all felt you. I was hoping to be the one but he got to you first.” Lizzie paused for a moment, looking to the door. Both Dean and Sam followed her gaze but heard nothing. When she continued on the complicated knot, she actually growled in frustration. The sound made the hair on the back of Dean’s neck rise up and his cock twitched. Straining against his ropes until they bit against his skin, he tried to focus on the pain instead of his arousal. 

“Stop it.” Lizzie whispered and rose up, moving over to Dean. She worked at the rope holding down his right hand to the chair. “They will tighten as you struggle.” each brush of her fingers against his skin was torture. 

“Fine.” he barked at her to make her stop. “Just finish with Sam, then you both can work on these.” She looked down at him for a moment, looking like she was trying to decide if she should follow his order. Thank Chuck she nodded and moved back to Sam. He wasn’t completely hard yet and it gave him another moment to try settle down before she would be back to work his ropes off. “Why are you helping us escape?” he whispered the question, still trying to distract his brain.

“I explained it to you earlier.” she smiled slightly as the rope around Sam’s chest started to give way. There was a small sheen of sweat on her forehead and Dean suddenly realized she was probably using magik to undo the ropes. “You two have the same priorities as I do.” Moving to Sam’s left hand, the rope seemed more willing to release itself. In no time she was moving to his right and Sam was free. “Stay seated. I think they have a few spells here that will detect your movement.” 

As she moved to Dean, she knelt on the ground at his feet and took a deep breath before starting on his ankles. The deep v-neck of her t-shirt meant he could look right down at her cleavage, he could even see the top curve of her white lace bra. Slamming his eyes shut, he thought about witches in movies - old and decrepit, warts and pointy hats. It was working until he felt the rope fall away from his ankles and her hands moved to his knees, pushing them apart so she could come closer and work on the rope around his chest. 

“If there are other spells, how are we getting out of here?” Sam whispered.  _ Good Sammy, distract... _

“I think I can act as a shield. But I can’t do that and this at the same time without drawing attention.” Her whispers flew against his skin as she leaned in to pick at a difficult knot. Why hadn't he just buttoned up the flannel all the way? She was breathing shallow and Dean could see her hands shaking slightly. 

“Because spells have signatures?” He had meant to distract himself while showing that he sometimes payed attention. But when her eyes shot up to his she lifted her head, tilting it just right, and Dean was lost. Her fingers stopped as she licked her lips. 

“Yes. Because working two spells at once would...yeah...” and then she moved closer. All he could think of was the soft lips that he was sure would be meeting his any moment now. It didn’t matter than it was in some dank basement, his brother probably beet red beside them, witches going to descend at any moment, it was going to be the best kiss of his life, he was certain.

“Sorry to interrupt but, what are you doing Elizabeth?” 

She was moving away. _Why wasn’t he being kissed right now?_  He felt her push herself up with her hands on his knees, then her touch was gone. Opening his eyes, trying to suck in enough oxygen to focus, Dean saw they were no longer alone. Patrick the witchy douche was there, muscles rippling. There was also a woman next to him in a provocative green dress, glaring daggers at Elizabeth. Two other men - one looked to be in his 60’s while the one closest to the door was probably more around Dean’s age - completed the group. 

“Come on Elizabeth. Jakob asked you a question.” The man by the door ordered. There was contempt in his voice as he took a step further into the room towards Lizzie. “How embarrassing to find you  _ helping _ these two.” The man didn’t even glance at Sam but gave Dean a snide glare.  _ Was this her fiance? _ Dean wasn’t necessarily proud of this fact, but there had been a few run-ins over the years with jealous husbands and boyfriends who happened to find him and their lady in an intimate situation. This man had that kind of jealous look on his face. 

“They aren’t an issue.” Elizabeth’s voice was calm but she was standing completely rigid.

“That hasn’t been decided yet.” The older man spoke with authority. 

“It would be an easier decision if you would give them a chance.” the jealous one moved to grab her arm, leaning in as if to whisper but kept his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I don’t think you need any more chances alone with this one.” Slowly, he brought his lips to Lizzie’s neck and placed what looked like a wet kiss on her skin.  _ Ok _ , thought Dean.  _ Will need a new name for Patrick, cause this guy is the witchy douche. _ He narrowed his eyes at the man, ready to tell him off, but Lizzie beat him to it, ripping her arm out of his grip and slamming her hand against his chest. The man squealed loudly as he was lifted off the ground and flung into the wall, held there by an unseen force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. My Muse Boi is having fun pushing plot lines rapidly into my head. Not that I mind writing on a Friday/Saturday instead of doing work...Hehehee...


	8. Free advice

“ELIZABETH! Release him!” The older man had stepped forward and was holding up a hand towards Lizzie. Dean watched quietly, his voice stolen away by what was unfolding in front of him. He glanced at Sam, his brothers face looked like he felt.  _ What the hell? _

“He was the one to cross the line” Lizzie wasn’t even looking at the older man, her eyes narrowed on the man she had pinned to the wall. 

“He is allowed to show affection. Your reaction is solving nothing.” a step closer and the older man would be able to touch her. 

“Release them and I will let him down. We go upstairs and have an honest discussion about what is going on.” Dean had to smirk slightly, pride rising in his chest for this woman he barely knew, wasn’t sure he could trust, but definitely wanted to get naked with... _ although that might be part of a spell _ .. _.maybe..._

“Are you negotiating?” a shrill voice sounded, the woman in the green dress adding her voice to the situation. “She can’t get away with this anymore Jakob! She doesn’t deserve any more chances!” 

“Carmen. Stop.” Patrick silenced the woman without even looking at her. 

“Well?” Lizzie lowered her hand and the man’s feet touched the floor. His limbs still seemed frozen, but his muscles looked like they were twitching, as if he was constantly testing the restraints of her magik.

“Yes, yes.” the older man, Jakob, gave in and lowered his hand as Lizzie lowered hers. The now free man left the room in a huff as the remaining ropes fell away. Both Dean and Sam stood slowly, as if their new freedom might be snatched away. Carmen and Jakob left quickly, Patrick kept looking to Lizzie as he moved from the room.

“Well, you guys wanted to be able to question Marcus...” Lizzie mumbled as she came to stand between the two, looking from Sam to Dean. She looked like she was on a caffeine high, her shoulders jittery. Although Dean noticed, Sam was the first to comment. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah. Adrenaline. Plus trying to damper my magik before they came in. Then the rush of just letting it loose on Marcus.” She chuckled. “Not the first time, unfortunately, probably won’t be the last”

“That was Marcus? Is he your fiance?” verifying what he had thought, Dean pointed toward the door that the guy had left through. 

“Yes and...yes.” Lizzie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she answered. “We should get going, I don’t know how long this fragile peace treaty will last.”

“Are we safe?” Sam asked, looking around cautiously as they left the small room and began to climb stone stairs. Lizzie looked over her shoulder with a shrug with a smirk. 

“Depends on if Dean tries to kiss me again.” 

“Hey!” Dean raised his voice. “You were in a certain position...” he sputtered trying to get his mind from revisiting that moment. “ **You** tried to kiss me!” he hissed as the three of them turned the corner at the top of the stairs. They followed a narrow hallway, the walls still made from large boulders. Maybe they  _ were _ in a castle. 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Lizzie chuckled but sobered quickly as she pushed open a door and they entered a large sitting area. The room was plush with velvet drapes, soft leather couches and bookcases that lined the walls...in fact the door they had just stepped through closed and became a seamless part of a bookcase. It was the room they had been spying on when Patrick had caught them. Only Jakob and Patrick were waiting for them, Jacob already seated in a large armchair at the far end of the room. Lizzie led them to one of the couches and motioned for them to sit. She sat on the opposite couch next to Patrick and an uncomfortable silence covered the room. Dean never did like those silences.

“Where is Poison Ivy and Fiance Boy?” He smirked at Sam who was silently shaking his head. Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head at him too.  _ Whatever  _ he grumbled to himself.

“I assume you are referring to Carmen and Marcus? They will be joining us shortly.” Jakob answered. “But we can begin the questioning if you prefer not to wait. What were you hoping to accomplish by coming uninvited to my home this evening?”

“We are sorry for the intrusion, sir. We were worried about Lizzie.” Sam spoke calmly, like a stately diplomat. Dean, not for the first time, wondered if there was a class he took in college…

“Why would you be worried about Elizabeth? She is at her home, among her own.” Jakob asked just as politely.

“This isn’t my home.” Lizzie muttered. Patrick elbowed her gently with a scowl on his face. 

“Despite what her feelings are on the matter. She is always safe here.” Jakob smiled and Dean was reminded of a snake in the grass. “But you must have come for more than that. Elizabeth has informed us that some hex bags have been found?”

“Yeah. All over the house.” Dean spoke up, ready to get some answers. “We think they came from here.”

“Really?” Jakob looked to Lizzie, but she was glaring at Dean. “You left out that detail, love.” 

“The ruins carved into the leather...they looked familiar.” she admitted through gritted teeth.

“Let me guess. You think it was Marcus?” Jakob chuckled and shook his head. “Elizabeth. Fight as long as you want. This is going to happen.” turning to the brothers, the old man stood with a smile. “I am sorry to waste your time gentlemen. Elizabeth has been trying to accuse Marcus of just about anything in order to cause drama. She is unhappy with the situation and is using anything...” Jakob looked over Dean with an assessing glare, “...and anyone to try to change things.”

“None the less, the hex bags...” Dean stood and took stock of the older man. Although he looked a bit fragile, Dean knew that there was power behind his eyes. “...Max didn’t just let any passing witch into his house.” 

“Yes. Poor Max. And now Cheryll left with this mess. It is a shame. We’re good friends you know. Trust is a rare thing between a hunter and his...prey...” Jakob kept smiling through the insult. “But trust was the base of our friendship.”

“Maybe if you had stepped in a little sooner you would still have your friend.” Dean spit out, tired of the false pleasantries. 

“More lies Elizabeth?” Jakob tsked as he smiled wickedly down at Lizzie. It was Patrick that cleared his throat, drawing the older man’s gaze off of her. Looking from Sam to Dean, he sighed before continuing. “He wanted little to do with us during that time. Thought it would be less incriminating if we stayed away.” Jakob took a step towards Dean and extended his hand before speaking again. “But we want to help. Let us join together to stop this before it goes any further.” Dean simply looked from the old man’s face to his hand and back again with disbelief. Before he could give his snarky reply, Patrick stood and moved in between them.

“Believe Miss Elizabeth or not, don’t you think an accusation against Marcus warrants his presence? He should be in here answering questions also. We don’t need pacts with these hunters. Let’s solve this now within our own walls and be done with it.” Everyone was quiet, Dean’s eyes wide with shock. Jakob slowly lowered his hand, his face a blank slate. 

“Let me go see what is detaining my son.” Jakob replied curtly and slithered from the room. Only once he left did Patrick move to sit next to Lizzie again. Dean stood looking down at the pair, still surprised by the man’s interruption. Patrick looked up and met his gaze, one eyebrow lifted in question.

“Gonna sit back down?” his big arm muscles actually twitched as he spoke. 

“Why did you step in?” Dean asked, slowly taking his seat. Patrick snorted and shook his head.

“I don’t like it when Jakob entraps people with his spells. Even if they happen to be hunters.” Looking to Lizzie, the big guy smirked. “We do agree on some things.” Lizzie chuckled and patted his knee, smiling back.

“We agree on lots of things. It’s just the few things we disagree on are big.” 

“All the more reason for you to just concede.” Patrick looked to Dean and Sam. “You found all the hex bags?”

“We think so” Sam nodded

“And you believe they came from Marcus?” Patrick looked to Lizzie who nodded quietly. “Marcus? Really?”

“I know. But when I touched it, his signature was prominent.” Lizzie stood and began pacing again. Dean wondered about if this was a habit of hers. Not that he was complaining. Watching her walk back and forth gave him a chance to appreciate her curves. “It’s not impossible but its damn close.” Her voice lifted his eyes from her behind and Patrick chuckled.

“Not sure he even knows what a rune is.” Lizzie shot Patrick a smirk as she paced and Dean’s jealousy spiked yet again this evening.  _ Big muscled flirt  _ he thought. Lizzie stopped pacing and looked at Dean with a glare. 

“I can feel that you know.” She mumbled before moving again. 

“Feel what?” Patrick asked, looking at the brothers for an answer. When Dean and Lizzie chose to stay silent, Sam spoke up.

“They have this connection going on.” Lizzie turned her glare on Sam and he shrunk back. But Patrick wasn’t stopped by her gaze. 

“Connection? You wanna explain Squirt?” Dean smirked at the nickname as Lizzie threw her hands up and huffed. 

“Don’t DO that.” Dean watched as she seemed to fold in on herself. Her arms folded, legs together, head down. He wanted to comfort her again as he did when she fainted. “I don’t KNOW what’s going on and you sending waves of calm my way doesn’t help!”

“When did it start?” Patrick was looking at Dean with doubt.

“Yesterday morning at the church.” Sam added his voice again and this time, Dean shot him a glare. “What? Neither of you know what’s happening, you both want it to stop, maybe he can help.”

“What were you doing when you first noticed it?” Patrick moved on. _M_ __in_ ding my own business  _ Dean thought. But Lizzie’s answer surprised him.

“Reaching for a vase.” she sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And before this conversation goes any further, Jakob is coming back.”

“Elizabeth...” Patrick began but Lizzie sat down beside him and grabbed his knee.

“Later, I promise.” the big man was quietly staring into her eyes for an awkward second before nodding and leaning back, apparently satisfied for now. Jakob entered the room moments later with that damned smile on his face.

“Our questions will have to wait. Marcus has decided to take an evening drive in order to relax from his earlier...trial.” Lizzie rolled her eyes and Dean swore he could feel her anger. 

“How convenient. We will wait.” Dean replied, his voice low, not trying to disguise his dislike of Jakob or the fact that Marcus had decided to run.

“Unfortunately, I do not know when he will return and I would hate to keep you any longer this evening.” Sam was about to speak but was cut off as Jakob continued. “Let me ease your accusations of our involvement in these sad times. I would love to invite you both back tomorrow for lunch. I will ensure Marcus is present.” His voice and body language left no room for argument. Looking at Sam, Dean nodded and they both stood. They were out of their depth at the moment. In a house of witches, no weapons, and - what’s worse - not knowing friend from foe. Lizzie stood and began to follow them out of the room. 

“Where are you going young lady?” Dean and Sam stopped and looked back at Jakob. Lizzie had stopped walking but wasn’t looking back. Dean caught her gaze and was awash in exhaustion and frustration. 

“I am going home. It’s been a long day.”

“We weren’t finished earlier when the interruption happened.” Jakob still smiled but his voice had turned icy.

“Yes, but without Marcus...and I assume some of the others have turned in...” She was still looking a Dean, her eyes growing heated. He nodded at her as a form of support and she smiled slightly. After a long pause, the older man spoke with a controlled voice.

“Patrick, will you make sure our guests find their way out?” Patrick simply nodded and suddenly they were all on the move again. Dean couldn’t wait to be out of this odd mansion. He paid attention to the turns it took to get to the main entryway. One massive staircase wound it’s way up to a second and third floor. But there were no open doors along the way or up the stairs so it was anyone’s guess what laid beyond. Lizzie slid between the brothers, taking the lead as she reached for the massive front door, the cool night air swirling around them and Dean took his first deep breath in the past few hours. She didn’t stop to talk as they all moved outside, she just headed to her car.

“Let her go. When she feels cornered, she turns nasty.” Patrick spoke quietly as they all watched her get in and start her car. “I don’t blame her, just the way she deals.” wheels spun, gravel kicking up as she sped off.

“Is tomorrow a trap?” Sam looked at Patrick who was still watching the black night where Lizzie’s car had just disappeared.

“Probably.” Patrick stated plainly. “But you know she has your back...” turning, his brown eyes slid between Sam and Dean. “...and I have hers.” Sam nodded, apparently having made the decision to trust yet another witch. Patrick’s gaze landed on Dean. “How would you describe the connection between yourself and Elizabeth?” Dean paused, wondering if he should say anything without Lizzie here. Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his face.

“Spell craft” When Patrick just kept staring, Dean sighed again and continued. “Yeah, I noticed her right away when we met. She was bent over in a tight black skirt.” He chuckled and wiggled his eyes at Patrick but got no reaction. Clearing his throat, he continued. “But when we were in the church...it was like she was in my head and I couldn’t stop telling her everything. Ever since that moment, it’s like I am hyper aware of her.”

Patrick nodded once and looked back at the now empty driveway. 

“Bring flowers when you come tomorrow for lunch. You will be eating with the whole coven - there are thirteen of us total. The flowers will go a long way with the women.”

“Not that I am complaining” Sam smiled, “But why the free advice?”

“Who said it’s free? And besides, it’s not to help you...but to help her.” Patrick smiled for the first time since they had met and it was slightly unnerving. “See you boys tomorrow.” without waiting for a reply, he moved back into the mansion and closed the door behind him. Dean could have sworn he saw the big man simply wave his hand behind him and the door shut on it’s own. 

“From prisoners to lunch guests.” Dean nodded at Sam’s words as they moved towards Baby. He was worried that they might go back to prisoners depending on how lunch went.


	9. Sugar and Spice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you had to wait so long for this chapter, I made it a long read...enjoy

After a long drive in the dark back roads of the countryside, Lizzie stepped into her quiet home, her brain still whirling. Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. Jakob was sure to try entrap Sam and Dean. The brothers would be crazy to go to lunch without weapons. The coven would probably enchant the food. What time was it?

Sighing loudly, she began to pull a pan from her cupboards. Cooking had always helped her mind calm down, focusing on the ingredients and measurements, aromas and textures. Pushing a few buttons, soft music began playing from her house speaker system and she started gathering ingredients from her fridge to make a breakfast casserole. She would want to go over to see Cheryl, Sam and Dean first thing in the morning and she might as well bring food with. 

Eggs, cheese, sausage...red pepper, green onion...biscuit mix...

Damnithell. Elizabeth swore as she searched her cupboards for the mix she thought she had tucked on the second shelf. But there was nothing. Cheryl would have some...   
______________________________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was letting herself into the back door of Cheryl’s house. After seeing the time was much later than she had thought (must have been a very long car ride...) Lizzie had reasoned that she might as well make the casserole at the house along with some freshly brewed chicory coffee. Quietly she set down her pan with ingredients and shuffled through the cupboards until she found the biscuit mix. She put on the lights above the stove and sink, just enough for her to get to work. Her mind was focused on the biscuit batter, humming softly as she folded in the soft powder. It wasn’t until she heard a curse that she was flooded with emotion coming across the kitchen. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean spoke gruffly, turning on the full set of kitchen lights. Blinded for a moment, Lizzie froze. The mix of surprise and adrenaline at being snuck upon, by a hunter none-the-less, stole her voice away. “Do you know it’s four in the morning?” Dean sighed as Lizzie turned with the bowl in her arms and he moved across the kitchen towards her. “I could have shot you...” he waved the gun in front of her face. But her eyes were more focused on the fact that he had no shirt on. Dear fluffy goddess. This man couldn’t be real. His chuckle brought her gaze to his eyes and he stopped disturbingly close to her. 

When she still said nothing, Dean looked down at the bowl in her arms and then back up into her eyes. Lizzie blushed as her fuzzy brain realized she still hadn’t spoke. Your turn to talk dummy…“Yeah...um...so I was at home and couldn’t sleep and thought I would come here in the morning with breakfast because, you know, we need to talk about lunch with the coven and how it’s a trap but I didn’t have any biscuit mix and Cheryl always has everything in her cupboards so I decided to come over and make the casserole here with some chicory coffee, have you ever had chicory coffee? Yummy goodness I tell you, also good iced and...um...sorry I woke you up…” Dean was smirking by the time she finished her rant, seemingly all relaxed when only moments ago he was ready to sniper her ass. Lizzie felt her blush spread down her neck. 

“Yeah, we sorta figured it would be a trap.” His voice was low and soft. Lizzie wanted to sink into it. Dean took a step closer, his chest almost touching the bowl, and looked down at her. “What kind of casserole?” Lizzie swallowed thickly while getting lost in his eyes.

“Um. The eggy-sausage-cheesy kind.” Her knees almost gave out when he chuckled at her casserole title. 

“With biscuits.” He added, the smirk widening as he leaned forward.

“Of course” Lizzie whispered, certain that if he was going to try kiss her at this moment she would have no choice but to give in. Earlier, in the basement, she had tried to resist the draw he had...but now there was only submission. Eyes fluttering closed, she could feel his breath ghost along her lips, then nothing. As she opened her eyes, Dean was leaning away from her. He coughed gently and took a step away, breaking the moment. 

“I wasn’t really sleeping.” He moved away from her and sat at the small kitchen table. It took her brain a moment to regain function. Flexing her fingers, she realized she had been gripping the bowl hard enough to shatter it. Slowly, not trusting her footing, she turned and resumed putting the casserole together. Quiet crept into the kitchen after Dean settled in at the table, with only the sounds of Lizzie completing the dish. Yet her mind was whirling with anything but baking. Why had she come over without doing her hair? Or makeup? Did he trust her? Enough to want to kiss her...or maybe not so much since he didn’t kiss her. Was it a spell that made her want to kiss him? As she put the dish into the oven, Dean thankfully pulled her from her thoughts with a question.

“You grow up here?” Lizzie turned to look at him sitting at the table. His hair was sticking up at an odd angle, his eyes with dark circles underneath. He wasn’t lying about not sleeping. She smiled warmly and moved to make some coffee. 

“Yes. But my mother moved when I was two.”

“Why?” Her first instinct was to tell him to piss off. But, against her better judgement, she answered him. 

“She didn’t want my biological father to raise me in the coven. Plus, she was in love with my dad...so they ran away.” taking a deep breath, Lizzie turned and searched the hunter’s face for judgement. But he was simply nodded as if she should go on. “Mom was a natural witch. She was doing magik when she was a toddler. Me, not so much. My biological father - Peter - was going to start me on trials, harsh training that was supposed to bring out your magikal talents. They aren’t pleasant.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean interrupted, his voice tinged with anger. “He was going to put you through trials at two?” she smiled at his concern before continuing.

“Yes. Both my mom and Peter were strong with magik. So why shouldn’t their daughter be?” the beep of the coffee signaled it was ready and Lizzie turned from Dean to pour two cups. Slowly she brought them over to the table and sat across from him. He took the cup without hesitation. Lizzie shook her head, trying to clear the fuzzy warmth that had seeped into the room. 

“Still - you were two...” he grumbled before taking a cautious sip of the warm liquid. His eyebrows shot up as he looked from the cup to Lizzie. “Yummy Goodness” She laughed at his expression and forgot about trying to clear her mind. “Ok, go on...your mom took you where?”

“Colorado...Wyoming...Idaho...Washington...we moved a lot. It wasn’t until I was older that I figured out why...well, Aunt Virginia helped me figure out...” Lizzie grew silent as she sipped her coffee, lost in memories. Dean sat and waited for her, only clearing his throat when tears started to gather in her eyes. “Sorry...” she sniffled and smiled, wiping at her eyes. “My parents were killed in an auto wreck. I was 15 when I moved back here to live with Aunt Vee.” 

“I’m sorry...” Dean looked away from her but not before Lizzie saw the pain in his eyes and felt the emotion of severe loss roll off of him.   
“You too?” she almost whispered the words but Dean heard, nodded in response.

“My mom...then, years later, my dad...both were sudden and violent.” They were quiet for a moment before Dean shook his head gently and looked back up at her. “Why did you come back here?”

“Aunt Virginia wasn’t really my aunt...but she was who was listed as my legal guardian. My mom was supposed to rule the coven with Peter, bloodlines and such. But when she left, the responsibility fell on Virginia who was my mom’s cousin. Still, easier saying Aunt Virginia than second cousin Virginia...anyways, she welcomed me back and I came...”

"And Peter?"

"Killed years earlier, I wasn't told much more than he had a drinking problem..."

“Your aunt? You said she helped you figure out why you moved around so much?”

“Mom was using her magik to conceal our whereabouts. Aunt Vee and Uncle Jakob helped bring out my talents. It was really difficult at first until something seemed to break, like a dam, and then POW all this energy. Most powerful witch in my bloodline. More than Aunt Vee, more than Amelia. Later, Jakob discovered that mom must have also been spending her energy on repressing them, repressing my talents...” Lizzie traced the lip of her cup, not sure why all of this was spilling out, but knowing without a doubt that Dean was the person to spill it all to. “Have you ever felt responsible for something with no hope of ever knowing the truth?” even without looking up, she could feel the response he was sending out. He knew her pain all to well. “I think I killed them. She was using so much of her magik concealing us, repressing my magik, it just wore her out...and one night she just couldn’t do it anymore and the moment she revealed her location...boom...”

“You can’t know that.” Dean spoke low, trying to comfort her but she had gone through this doubt cycle too often to be convinced otherwise.

“I can’t prove otherwise. And Jakob saw the spell craft trail...” she fell quiet, certain her words would convince him that she was the monster witch he had originally thought she was. Slowly she lifted her gaze and her eyes locked with Dean’s. Frowning, she didn’t believe what she saw at first. No judgement was found in his gaze and there was a green aura around him, soft, gliding off his shoulders. It was the same exact color as her spell craft. Green. Representing balance and love. He must have picked up on her focus shift because he suddenly looked over his shoulder. 

“Everything ok?” Dean asked as he turned back towards her. 

“Yeah...yes...sorry.” Lizzie shook her head and stood, having the feeling of breaking through a bubble that had been holding them together. Looking back, she saw Dean shake his head again, gently, then rub his eyes. 

“Weird...” he mumbled.

“What’s weird?” Lizzie asked softly. She didn’t turn, but held her breath waiting for his answer. Yet the voice she heard was not Dean’s.

“What’s weird is that you two are up?” Sam yawned as he spoke and stumbled into the kitchen. Lizzie spun around, eyes wide. “What are ya doen here Lizzie?” another yawn came out as he moved next to her at the counter. “Gosh that coffee smells good.” 

“Let me pour you some.” Lizzie chuckled, relaxing as Sam clumsily leaned against the counter. “Go sit down before you fall.” He smiled and did as he was told. It wasn’t until she brought the new cup over to the table that she noticed Dean’s gaze was still on her. No longer was there open trust in his eyes but skepticism. 

“So, whatcha doen here?” Sam grinned into his cup of coffee as the flavor washed down his throat.

“Making breakfast. Telling your brother that lunch with the coven is a trap. Gonna give you some tips...”

“Is that chickory coffee?” Cheryll interrupted, coming into the kitchen smiling. She patted Lizzie’s shoulder as she moved to pour a cup. “And you started a casserole! Lizzie, you are too good to me.” She kissed Lizzie’s head and joined the trio at the table. Dean still hadn’t spoken and Lizzie didn’t want to see the look that was probably still in his eyes.

“Patrick told us to bring flowers...” Sam mumbled.

“He did? When?” Lizzie asked

“After you dramatically drove off into the night.” Dean spoke and Lizzie couldn’t help but look at him. His face was blank.

“Ahhh. Well, I guess that could help. If you bring the right kind.”

“Oooo...I know this.” Cheryll chimed in. “Lily, right?” Lizzie smiled at the suggestion.

“Although they symbolize peace, I would go with gladiolus. Strength of character, honor, faithfulness...” She glanced at Dean as she spoke but he was still a blank slate. “Also, eat before you come. You probably don’t want to eat too much of what is served to you. Eat small bites, slowly. That way you can give your system time to digest and you will know if there is anything odd put into the food.” she sighed and took another sip of coffee. “Probably best not to drink anything unless I hand it to you. I am going to be there early to help out but more so to supervise what’s going on in the kitchen.” She stood up and started to pace, her head starting to clear and focus on the meeting. “Might not want to shake too many hands...”

“Lizzie.” Cheryll laughed. “You are painting your coven in an evil light. I am sure it will all be fine.” Lizzie stopped and stared at her friend with confusion. Dean and Sam were looking at her too. “What?” Cheryll asked before laughing again and standing, walking around to Lizzie. “Come on. Think about what you are saying. This is your Uncle Jakob. You are engaged to be married to his son. Would you really be doing this if you thought so poorly of them?” She didn’t know what to say. Cheryll knew her reasons for being here, for the choices she had made. But the older woman didn’t seem to remember any of that at the moment. 

“Um. Ok...” before she could respond, the timer on the oven sounded causing her to jump. Cheryll chuckled and rubbed Lizzie’s arms. 

“Look at how jumpy you are. I know this has been tough on all of us, the deaths...Max’s death...” she looked lost for a brief moment, her eyes clouding over for a split second before smiling at Lizzie again. “But he wouldn’t want this - wouldn’t want you turning against your family when we will need them to solve this.” Turning, Cheryll moved towards the stove and put on an oven mitt, bending over to remove the casserole from the heat. Lizzie didn’t know what to say.

“I am going to go take a shower before we eat.” Sam smiled and stood, taking his coffee mug with him. Dean watched him go with confusion on his face. 

“Maybe I should go home and do the same. I will want to get to lunch early.” Lizzie mumbled, unsure of what had just happened, of anything that had happened over the past few hours. Dean stood suddenly and walked towards her.

“I’ll walk you out.” he said gruffly, no room for argument.

“Bye Cheryll.” Lizzie spoke but Cheryll simply waved at her without turning around, already cutting into the breakfast pan. Once outside by her car, Lizzie felt a little dizzy. She leaned against her car for support, breathing in the fresh air and glanced at Dean.

“What the hell was that?” his voice hushed, Lizzie was confused as to what he was really referring to.

“Which part?” she spoke in a hush too. Dean took a step closer before speaking again.

“First - you and me - did we actually have that conversation out loud or was that all in my head?” His eyes bore into hers, searching for any lies.

“I think it was out loud. But I don’t know why I shared all of that with you...”

“I don’t know why I asked...”

“It just felt right at the moment” Lizzie looked at him for confirmation.

“Yeah. Felt right...but not quite in control?” he asked.

“Yes…” she paused, looking away before asking her next question. “Everything we...well mostly I shared...it’s all just between you and me right?”

“Right” Dean didn’t hesitate as he answered and Lizzie didn't hesitate to believe him. 

“Ok, second...Cheryll and Sam...” Lizzie questioned. Dean stepped away slightly, running a hand over his face.

“How could she question you...I mean, after Max? After the other murders? That’s not right.”

“More hex bags?” Lizzie wrung her hands. Maybe they were too late. Maybe Cheryll would be the fourth victim. 

“Maybe.” Dean looked back to the house. 

“Look, just play it cool for now. Let me talk to Patrick. He can help us with some things once lunch is under way.”

“You trust him?” Dean asked with an edge to his voice. 

“You don’t? Please don’t let that spell he cast on you...he was protecting the coven...”

“I know. He seems all right I guess.” he looked like he was pouting again. What was it with this man and his emotions? 

“Patrick is all right. We have been friends since I was 15.” Dean scowled at her words and Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you are going through right now but snap out of it. I am going home. You are going to go look for hex bags. I will see you later.” With that she opened her car door and got inside. Slowly, using all of her will to not look back at Dean, she pulled out of the alleyway and onto the road that would lead her home. The sky was full of oranges and reds as the morning sun started to rise. Sighing deeply, worry rumbled in her stomach. Red sky at morning...


End file.
